We Can't Go

quanta saudade... quanta saudade desse eu que sentava e lia, e escrevia... desse eu que se esquecia menos das palavras e pensava menos na labuta e mais no peso da luz do Sol sobre a pele pela manhã. o eu que se preocupava tanto com sinônimos e tão pouco com a velocidade das palavras. o eu que não só detestava pessoas mas que conseguia não deixá-las lhe estragar o dia. triste né? triste como em menos de uma década a gente se perde, a vida de adulto nos sufoca e nossos sonhos se tornam menores, mais tangíveis. tenho saudades de sonhar gigante, do céu não só não ser o limite mas ser o ponto de partida. quando a gente se escrevia a vida era mais simples, mais leve, mais tranquila. concorda? quanta saudade... escrever era tão suficiente e te ler era tão recompensador. eu lembro do seu céu em alemão, lembro da janela de vidro, das lagrimas e dos sorrisos... lembro da ansiedade de ver seu nome na minha tela, e da ansiedade de te ler corretamente. mas sempre foi correto, sempre foi puro. éramo

And there they were, all of them sitting in a circle, they all smiled while sipping their coffees, they talked about trivial things waiting for the main event. He showed up, the usual smile wasn't there for the fist time ever. They all noticed it so the random conversation morphed into an anxious silence. He sat down, his back didn't reach the back of the chair, his body visibly tense, head down. And while he hesitantly lifted his gaze to the nothingness beyond the group, as if he was talking to the spirits in the room, and not the people he started: "Sometimes I feel like all we do is talk about how bad we were, how the past used to be unbearable, how we overcame, how we woke up today and we went through the day in-spite of every adversity that was thrown at us... how we put up a brave face and charge through life, unencumbered by IT. How great are we? We did it, we survived, we keep it up ad we keep going!" His distant eyes robbed the room of its light, then condens

Have you ever thought about how feelings change? Because I hadn't, and that surprised myself recently. Paul has been a constant in my life for a good number of years now... it all began with him being way too young and messaging me online, it evolved into both of us being of an acceptable age and dating for 6 months, and now... well, now things have changed. After the last ending my heart was broken, I felt like I had given Paul everything I could to have a good relationship and even though I tried to understand, I didn't really accept the fact that he didn't see us as a couple, even after being together for so long and clearly head over heels for each other. The thing is, I was completely in love with him. I could't stop smiling when I saw him. I felt excited before going out to see him, touching him was exhilarating, kissing could easily turn into this state of trance where the world would melt around us and there was only him and me. Paul messaged me. Actually he has

"Clubs aren't usually my scene" - I said. "What? Oh yeah! THIS IS FUN!" - My friend yelled back assuming I said something else. The room was packed, I could barely see the end of it. For me it looked like an endless see of bodies, beautiful bodies. I didn't fit. But I was trying something new so I just wiggled my body for a bit, trying to mimic what I thought the song waves looked like in my mind, hardly an award winning performance. Is that how people dance? It didn't take too long for me to start overheating, too many people packed into a that tiny room with black walls. "I am going to get something TO DRINK!"- I yelled, making sure to move my mouth so he would understand. "Alright, don't get LOST!" - Said my friend, oblivious to the fact that I most certainly would. And so I did... I walked to the bar and yelled something to the bartender, he gave me a drink, it had ice in it so it would have to do. Tasted like

Putting pen to paper is something cathartic. Everybody knows it, you write as a way to empty your mind, dumping all your thoughts and feelings into a sea of words. If you are lucky no one will ever read you, no one will ever get to see that wound you opened to tarnish the page with oozing blood. If you are brave you might even curl it all into a dirty ball and toss it, or burn it. If you are proud, like me, you'll publish it somewhere, for no one to see... but longing for the possibility of connection that might arise unexpectedly from someone reading it... and maybe, just maybe, seeing it as their own. That "this was written for me" moment. If you are stupid you will show it willingly to people, hoping to push that connection. If you are even stupider, like me, you might show it to the person that inspired the bloody mess. And then you might understand the need to tend to your wounds yourself, to not show weakness. The world is a mess, and all I can think ab

The sound of rustling feathers made me wake up. It was quiet and it was dark, the kind of dark that makes you wonder if your eyes are open or not, the kind of dark that makes you question if you'll ever see light again. I was calm, even though I wasn't really sure where I was, how I happened to be there and what was actually going on. I could hear me breathing, I could feel my heart beating... it didn't take long for the rusting sound be heard again. What was that? I positioned my face towards where I thought the sound was coming from... a muted blue light suddenly started to glow not far from me, it seemed to emanate from what looked like a ball, or a stone. The light grew larger and brighter, and as my eyes became used to it I could make out what was carrying it: Hands. I jumped when I noticed someone was holding it... my sudden movement seemed to have scared the light itself... and it flashed brighter for a second. Hands holding a ball of muted light,

We were in the middle of an empty room, he had convinced me to follow him after a couple of drinks, I was feeling fine, giggly but fine. I am standing, he is too. He tells me to close my eyes, I do as he says right after giving him an inquisitive look and receiving a "go on" as a reply. My eyes are completely closed, I can only hear him walking around me in circles... I am curious to what's going to happen. After completing another circle he takes off his shoes, I can hear them hitting the hard floor as he tosses them across the room, the sound makes me jump, and my heart races. I can't hear his feet, but I can feel him walking around me once again, that impression is confirmed when he starts to speak and I can pinpoint his location in the room again. - I need you to take a deep breath - He says - Imagine you are walking down an empty avenue... there are no cars, no people around... you can hear nothing but the sound of a gentle breeze. And he conti

Abaixo todos os homens gritavam, batiam panelas e seguravam cartazes pedindo liberdade, centenas deles se aglomeravam nas ruas e eram sumariamente ignorados pelos homens de cinza no topo das árvores de concreto. Cercado de grossas folhas de vidro, é certo que os homens de dentro não podiam ouvir os de fora. Não havia frestas, mas eles seguiam a vida como se sequer enxergassem os homens de fora, Mas a estrutura das árvores de concreto fora projetada por homens e no encontro de duas das folhas havia espaço suficiente para uma semente, e lá uma semente se instalou e por algum motivo germinou. Germinou e cresceu, e a pressão entre as duas folhas cresceu junto até que ambas as folhas trincaram, e pesadas como eram estilhaçaram e foram abaixo logo em seguida. Cacos de vidro afiados choveram em direção ao povo de baixo, que correu desesperado por abrigo. Segundos depois a chuva mortal cessou e consigo cessou a gritaria dos homens de baixo, que fitavam maravilhados a destruição... ac

Acho que talvez tudo que eu precisava era sair, sair dessa caixinha em que eu mesmo me coloquei e fechei tão bem fechado e perdi a chave. Mas eu queria sair, queria mesmo, pela primeira vez na infinidade dessa vida eu tive a coragem de sair da caixinha e pisar nesse chão frio do mundo real. Você estava lá, e isso era tudo que eu precisava, precisava de uma mão pra me guiar enquanto a luz de fora ainda me ofuscava o olhar. Alguém pra dizer "cuidado pra não tropeçar", alguém pra perceber que eu tenho medo do novo e que eu preciso ouvir um "I got you, don't worry." Você estava lá, achou a chave, colocou ela na fechadura da caixinha, me disse tudo que eu queria ouvir mas também me disse que eu não estava pronto pra sair... porque o chão era mais frio do que eu esperava, porque o sol era mais intenso do que eu jamais podia imaginar. Mas eu queria... eu precisava sair. Eu queria sofrer um tiquinho essa dor que você sofre todo dia, eu queria dividir, queria d

Eu estava lá, parado de frente aquela árvore misteriosa, as árvores pareciam ser parte da nossa relação. Esta tinha um tronco branco e curto... a árvore inteira devia ter de três a quatro metros de altura. Fiquei lá por um tempo, tentando entender como flores gigantescas, de um rosa vivo, pendiam dos galhos daquela obra de arte. A brisa parecia não tocá-la, era como se o tempo deixasse de existir onde quer que sua sombra alcançasse. Ouvi o som dos passos de Paul, pisoteando as folhas das árvores menos majestosas e igualmente importantes que cercavam aquele jardim. - Nós precisamos conversar - Disse ele. Suspirei ao mesmo tempo em que um calafrio confirmava sensorialmente a tragédia anunciada. - Você não quer mais continuar me vendo - Eu afirmei. Uma das flores se desprendeu de um dos galhos mais altos da árvore, pintando de rosa o gramado verde logo abaixo, respirei fundo para conter as lágrimas, não podia parecer fraco porque precisava de força para o que viria a se