hell

maybe it is desire, more than love, what's driving people crazy.
the desire i feel for this man surely drives me insane.

tropeção

O final do dia. Solidão. Recordações. As horas lá atrás… Um pátio de escola, uma figura na esquina, abrigada. A chuva a cair sobre alcatrão. Qualquer coisa melancólica a tocar-me aos ouvidos. Guardo memórias de demasiados sorrisos. Mão na mão, lábios na não, lábios no rosto. Abraços fortes que davam a ilusão de eternos, indestrutíveis. Milhares de palavras trocadas. Tantas vezes, compreensão, encontro, adição. Tantas vezes me deste qualquer coisa nova para guardar nas minhas gavetas… Noite. Praia. A doçura discreta do teu conforto muito longe. A tua voz a ser-me trazida pelo vento. Solidão. Viragem do Milénio. Solidão. Um vazio antes da turbulência que viria a seguir. Desespero, tanto e a rodear-me. A corroer-me. Distância – aproximação. De novo a distância e a aproximação. Ciclo vicioso, doentio. E eu a convencer-me que aquelas duas pessoas apreciavam e precisavam uma da outra. Desengano. Solidão. Esquinas, tempo, frio, canções, filmes, palavras, contextos, decisões, vida, passos. Qualquer coisa que, do nada, me traz o odor. O odor específico daquele pescoço quente, daquela pele no Inverno. O sentimento de união. De calor. De multidão ao nosso redor. Um simples olhar e partilhávamos uma opinião. Ríamos juntos. Respeito, tanto respeito. As horas lá atrás… É delas que não consigo desfazer-me. Planos de fogueiras para blusas, livros e cobertores não vão ser suficientes para apagar as horas. Tanta vida, nessas horas, que soma enorme, de horas. Desperdício. Dor. Revelação – por fim, o desencanto. As horas, que consomem e matam e corroem. E eu a ver-me, sob o luar, de diário na mão a preencher o amarelecido das páginas contigo. Com o que pensava que seríamos um dia. Saudade de andar iludida, de ver o mundo em cor-de-rosa. O mesmo mundo que agora me parece cruel, porque me contou uma piada, uma história infundada durante demasiado tempo. Tanto tempo que todo o futuro parecia advir dela – alinhado, entrançado, bordado a partir dela. Belo e lógico e poético. O mesmo mundo que pousou as mãos sobre os meus olhos durante tantos anos. E eu, que ia recolhendo objectos queridos, memórias, horas, sonhos, e pu-los todos numa gaveta que visitava com a frequência de quem não tem mais nada a que se agarrar para saborear o ser feliz. E então, por vezes, fui obrigada a fechar essas gavetas à chave e a prometer-me que não regressaria lá. A dada altura, voltava a ceder ao mesmo odor, ao mesmo rosto tão amado e conhecido, e abria a gaveta. Espalhava as coisas no meu chão e tropeçava nelas durante algum tempo, batendo com as canelas na esquina de móveis, caindo de joelhos sobre saibro às vezes, batendo com a cabeça em esquinas. E só quando era impossível viver com essas carcaças é que voltava a reuni-las e a fechá-las na gaveta sem, no entanto, ter aprendido. Voltaria a abri-la. Desta vez isso não acontecerá. Há a fogueira. De blusas, livros e cobertores. De memórias. De horas. Adeus. 

for good

To my friend who died,

Hello there. Communication was never easy between us, I could never really make me understand. I spoke too much, too many words that, in the end, came down to nothing. I’m in mourning, right now. With the perfect sense of infinite loss inside me. I sank, the ship’s lost. You’re lost. I’ve lost you. Some say I found myself and I’ll see through it. I feel like all the dreams and hopes I had are buried in the sea right now. I won’t get them back, confidence or illusion… once destroyed, who can fix them up? I chose this, I know that. But, in life, we’ll be many times forced to deal with people you don’t really care about, or to have dysfunctional relationships just because there’s no way to avoid those people. I didn’t want you to become one of those. I could’ve closed my eyes and pretend you weren’t there from now on. But it wouldn’t work. Love was too pure, too big, to be turned into muddy water.  I’d rather dry the pool at once. And now it’s gone, surely gone. It would be a personal offense and a lack of self-respect to say otherwise. It’s gone, completely gone. Pulled out by forceps, but gone.  And I’m mourning it. Before this death, I was sure how my life would be from now on. Now I’m lost. Among most of the people I know, I was the only one who was sure to be in the right place and where she was going. And now, suddenly, I’ve realized I’ve spent the last half decade in the wrong place giving myself to the wrong people. I thought you’d be my lighthouse. For my whole life, in each and every step, you’d guide me. I didn’t see the impossibility of it, for your happiness would often imply me, agonizing and suffering. I haven’t come to realize how you let it fall. How come the fact that seem to be bewitched by someone else implies the loss of what we had, if it hadn’t any romantic implications? How come you suddenly don’t need me? You’ve stop caring for me. You’ve stop needing me. Just a few months ago you loved me, anyone could tell. It doesn’t matter the nature of that love, it could even be a brother’s love, but you loved me, and that comfort made my life brighter. I respected it, didn’t I? I didn’t use any womanly unfair cards to get you, did I? I respected it, because I wanted all or nothing. And then I got sick. Sick and tired of waiting, of playing fair, of being decent, sick of grabbing nothing. And shit happened. And we got lost. And now you’re dead. And I don’t miss the person you are today; I miss the one who used to kiss my hand. I miss the one who used to bring up the best in me, while pointing my flaws and smiling. I miss the blind faith I had in you. I miss the fact that I was capable of unconditional love and blindly put my hand over flames for you. I miss the fact that I knew you so well, no one could ever lie to me about you, for I’d get it immediately. I miss the fact that, sometimes, you missed me too. I miss the fact that music wasn’t really our thing, but the ones we shared were the ones I cherished the most. I miss hearing you sing them. I miss your smell, which I’ll never trace again.  I miss your hands, I’d recognize them anywhere. I miss us two under the stars, and I should’ve know better. Life wasn’t going in the direction I wanted it to. No it wasn’t, but I thought I could see us together, I thought it could happen. Such an epic win. It didn’t happen. I’m lost in a strange and ugly world I was never prepared for, I’m lost and incapable of trust or love or give myself ever again. I’m so lost that, to be honest, I don’t really want to live anymore. Each day will be empty, as I knew it’d be. I wish there was a pill that could take away all of my memories. Even the good ones; I’d take it immediately. Or a simply exit from life. You know what else I regret? On my birthday… when I asked you to hold me and you refused, I should’ve gone to you. It would have been one last honest hug. One last honest moment between us two. Sorry that you died, but your life was consuming mine.

Once yours,

C.