We Can't Go

Quando acordei não via nada, meus olhos custaram a acostumar com a claridade. A última lembrança era de estar contigo Jaxi, ainda sentia a chuva gelada que encharcara meu corpo naquela noite fria, e a euforia de dançar com você uma última vez. Ainda sem ver muita coisa: te chamei, busquei na sua voz o calor e o amor que sempre senti, que sempre transparece em tudo que você faz, e diz. Quando finalmente meus olhos retomaram suas habilidades percebi o que realmente havia acontecido. Vi meus olhos sem vida. O choque de perceber que meu corpo já não mais continha o meu ser não veio como imaginei que viria, apenas observei enquanto a realidade da morte relativamente prematura se fez presente e permanente. Meu corpo jazia ali, apenas um recipiente que tanto me serviu, me serviu para tocá-lo, para sentí-lo de todas as formas que pude. Fiquei triste por tê-lo perdido e por ter perdido a possibilidade de estar com você. Tão perto. Foi quando uma luz intensa começou a brilhar e eu me voltei para...

manhã comum, ocupada, cansativa como as manhãs têm sido. um amigo chega e me dou uns segundos para tirar o foco do trabalho. ultimamente tudo tem sido tão corrido que esses segundos de descontração são raros... e por vezes me forço a tê-los. mais para manter um resquício de sanidade mental (sendo bem honesto, esse barco já partiu faz tempo... o da sanidade) ouço a história e a situação me parece comparável com algo que eu costumava te dizer. então conto minha anedota e termino com "é o que eu costumava dizer para ele... o..." e nada me vem a cabeça, nenhum nome, nem resquício de nome. por um segundo minha mente colapsa totalmente e por mais que você esteja lá, você deixa de estar.  naquela caixinha de memórias, seu nome em letras garrafais escrito com caneta piloto numa fita crepe barata sumiu. - como era o nome dele? o nome... DELE!? - olho para o meu amigo gesticulando sem entender o que estava acontecendo - Eu esqueci o nome dele! - um sorriso se abre nos meus olhos...  e ...

we ran, we ran so fast, our hands clenched together like they were about to merge. I could feel the wind on my face, I could barely feel my legs but we kept running, and running. I could feel your gaze, I could hear your laugh. The world around us a blur, the sounds around us non-existent. earlier that day the world was the same, a collection of mistakes, of wrong turns. and then a smile, a beautifully white smile on a dark parking lot of a distant city. how crazy must I have been? thank goodness. a sandwich later, smalltalk and that smile, and the gaze, the piercing gaze of those black eyes. how you hugged me with every look, with every touch, with every laugh. we left together. we spent time together. we were so right, so close, so similar. and then, nothingness. I'm back to the world. but I wish I would've grabbed you when I could... and we would run, we would run so fast feeling the wind on our face, feeling each other's gazes letting the entire world turn into a blur a...

I met you. you were everything I ever dreamed of, except there. why couldn't I make you feel better? that's what I was focusing on during all that time. I was trying to make you feel important, and needed, and loved... because that's everything that I thought you needed. but all you needed was him. all you could think about, dream about, cry about... was him. I can still see your gaze when I close my eyes, those piercing eyes that made me feel so warm are now a reminder that you didn't actually see me. and I still can't put my finger on why that bothers me so much. I had a dream, and for a second I allowed myself to make you part of it... I could imagine my life in five, ten, twenty years. I really know how crazy that sounds and I never thought I would put myself in that position. funny how we think we are immune to some things, how we think we learn from other's mistakes and still, we get caught on the same patterns as everyone else. now it sucks to admit but I...

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, ...