Ever since childhood, I’ve felt that the clothes I wear are just a thin layer behind which something far more fragile and harder to define is hidden. It wasn’t just about skin but about that essence which sometimes trembles on the edge of an unspoken word or an untried gesture. To undress yourself means to learn to let go of all these layers: words, thoughts, memories, rules. It’s not easy. Sometimes, it feels impossible.

At times, I wonder what it would be like to give up commas, spaces, all the conventions that frame me into a shape. How many more layers would I discover? What colors might be hiding between the lines of a painting I’ve yet to learn how to see? We’ve become too accustomed to filling every void with another void, to drowning our silences in noise, to coloring the outlines simply because we think empty spaces are mistakes.

But what if the empty space is, in fact, what allows us to breathe?

To undress myself would mean letting the heavy snowflakes fall on my skin without trying to catch them or push them away. It would mean no longer seeing trams merely as means of transportation, but as stories suspended between one station and the next. It would mean looking at a snow-covered alley without searching for its end, without feeling the need to walk it or avoid it.

There is a strange freedom in letting go of the tyranny of logic. Without the pressure of making sense in a world that demands sense everywhere, you discover that, sometimes, nonsense can be the most honest way of being. To undress yourself doesn’t mean to run away but to stay with what truly matters. It’s like cleaning the windows of the soul, so the light can enter freely, in waves or discreet rays, but always sincerely.

Sometimes, we don’t need to understand every dot, every comma. Sometimes, all we need to do is let them be. A glance, a breath, a snowflake resting on a shoulder. To undress yourself is an act of courage and an invitation to discover that, sometimes, «being» requires no explanation.