Carolina Laura Rotter

I smiled. These were the things we would write on toilet walls. Problems belonged to the blackboard. I put the paper away, then grabbed it again and tore it apart. School days were over. Nobody would ever get to see this composition. The act had used up all of my artistic potential for that day. At least my fears had dissolved. I opened the window wide, leaned against the rail, and contemplated the street, where nothing was happening. It sleeps, I thought. Sleep was something that had always fascinated me, it was not unproductive, nor was it reproductive. It was nonproductive. Performative non-productivity was simply inspiring. I thought it was radical. Somehow, I felt I was too confused to be radical. I was too careful, had always been, worried I was destined for an accident, a misstep. The problem with keeping straight, when you’re young, is that you inevitably need to fill the void of experience. It’s only a matter of when.