PART 1: THE DAY MY SHADOW DECIDED TO WRITE ME A LETTER
Dear me (if I still deserve that title),
I’m noticing you as boring. Or is it sadness? I don’t know, but from down here, everything looks blurry. But as your official, unique and unmatched shadow, I feel obliged to remind you that today you have been looking at the ceiling for 2 hours. Congratulations! That breaks our personal record. Although, honestly, I prefer when you at least get up to look for chocolates in the fridge. At least at that moment I have some action.
PS: Your shirt is stained with coffee. Or maybe it’s wine. Who counts after the third glass?
— *Your shadow, always on the lookout*
P.S. 2: Don’t respond.
The letter was written on the floor in red chalk. I discovered it when I woke up, wrapped in a circle of moonlight that seemed to have been carefully drawn. My first reaction was to look for hidden cameras. A reality show? A prankster friend? But... There were no wires, no smiles behind the door. Just the letter and me, with my tousled hair from the night before.
“Hello?” I said, just in case the chalk was magical.
Nothing. Except for the echo of my voice, which sounded more hollow than usual.
I decided to ignore her. Shadows do not write letters. People with insomnia and too much free time do. I got dressed (clean shirt, just in case), brewed coffee (black, sugar-free, like my soul), and opened the laptop. The email flashed with an unread message.
Subject: “Reply to your letter.”
But I hadn’t written any letters.
The body of the message was brief:
“If you’re reading this, it means your shadow isn’t lying. We are the Talking Shadow Club: we offer you free Membership, Benefits include: free therapy, bad jokes and a 25% discount on anti-hopelessness mirrors. Are you up for it?”
Attachment: A virtual paper coupon.
I laughed. It was a short laugh, like a graceful sigh. I haven’t laughed in weeks, even at myself.
“Is this a joke?” I asked the ceiling.
“So what if it isn’t?” A raspy voice replied from the ground.
I looked down. My shadow had stretched, forming a silhouette reminiscent of a smiling cat.
“Ah! I shouted, throwing the coffee on the table splashing the keyboard.
“That was an accident,” said the shadow. I didn’t sign to stain electronic equipment.
—¿Hablas? —balbuceé.
“Only when there’s coffee involved.” It’s my addiction. Your fault, by the way.
I sat on the floor, crossing my legs with my own silhouette. He coiled around in a spiral, like a snake hugging itself.
“So... what are you?” I asked.
“Your worst nightmare or your best friend.” It depends on the day. Today, for example, I’m your personal trainer in the art of *not turning you into a human vegetable*.
“I’m not a vegetable.
“You’re a vegetable with WiFi.” There is a difference.
“And what do you propose?”
“A game.” You write letters to your demons, I deliver them. They respond (sometimes).
“And if they don’t respond?”
“Then we write letters to gods that don’t exist or to ex-girlfriends who blocked you on social media. Or your past self, to ask you to stop making mistakes.
“And will that help?”
“No. But it will be entertaining.
I was silent. Outside, the rain began to hit the window as if it wanted to enter.
“You know?” said the shadow. Storms are the sky crying.
“Are you a poet?”
“I’m pragmatic. Water can’t fly, so it falls. You can’t fly either, but you keep trying.
“I don’t try anything.
“You try not to sink, that counts.
I stood still, listening to the rain. The shadow stretched out to touch my hand, cold and soft as a wet blanket.
“First letter,” he said. Write.
And so, with a coffee-stained keyboard and a solitary sock, I began to write.
---
Author’s Note
What if today you decide to write to your own shadow? That part of you that is silent, that observes, that follows you even when you flee. You don’t need perfect sentences. Only words that are yours. What would you say to yourself if you knew that your shadow was ready to listen to you? I invite you to write...
With your doubts, with your secrets, with that inner voice that has been whispering to you for a long time and you have not had the courage to listen. This is your chance. Write.
