I have dreamed a handful of times that I was a ghost. Not someone lonely, sad, full of chains – just a being without a body on the same page (wavelength?) as the other Human beings, which made me unable to inter- act with them in the usual ways. So I had to resort to other means.

Some people say that ghosts are just people who have died but still do not acknowledge it. That is not my case. I actually was born as a boy. I was mostly happy. But a day I fell and my right knee started to bleed. I felt angry and suddenly I was not one. I saw myself from outside, calm, while I still was holding my knee and feeling the pain. Maybe that day my soul splitted.

It kept happening as I grew, and I kept breaking, dis- tancing myself from myself. But dreams still are mine. So are gloomy winter mornings when is freezing cold, I wear this thick wool jersey and I rub my hair while I remember how it was to be one.