How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell / How I wish I would save my soul./ I'm so cold from fear.
I cannot describe them. But I feel them. And worry that tomorrow, I won't be able to remember.
And those I can only feel, the ones that make my heart skip a beat, that hold my chest breathless, those should be created daily, not remembered.
Every time we were together, they were being imprinted. Every time, something new, something special happened. Some place, some voice, some occurrence.
Some new memories should be being created.
Are you smiling? Are you motivated? Are you enjoying life?
You deserve happiness. And I deserve not knowing.
Are you safe? Are you happy? Are you warm? Are you calm?
I am restless. Not knowing is my punishment. Deserved, but still, punishment.
I do not even recall if ever I would be entitled to hear from you again. I hope someday I am, before social networks die. On the other hand, what would be the use of being connected? Knowing about you? Would it be for the better, or simply make it more painful?
Whatever the answer, I am restless.
Num deserto sem água
Numa noite sem lua
Num país sem nome
Ou numa terra nua
Por maior que seja o desespero
Nenhuma ausência é mais funda do que a tua.
And instead, I just miss you. I look at the few pictures that remind me bright days when I saw and felt you smile, and just miss you.
your arms, your legs, your feet, your skin, your ears, your toes, your neck, your taste, your hands, your knees, your torso, your sweat, your fingers, your back, your nose, your front, your hair, your smell, your mouth, your shoulders, your elbows, your muscles, your cheeks, your touch.
I'm missing every part of you, not just memories or feelings - Physically missing you.
I swear I can see your soul.
And when you turn your voice smoothly unto my ear I swear I can hear the sea.
And when we touch hands, I swear I can feel lightning through my veins.
And when I stop to breathe in, hold your head close to me, I swear it smells home.
I miss you. I want to say hello. I can't, I won't. Tomorrow is no anniversary, even if it's the last time I know you knew I am still here.
Dreamt about it last night. We were walking, hand in hand, in the streets of the proud, free city, lighthouse of democracy.
And a light was shining even brighter: your eyes.
The role of the artist is exactly the same role, I think, as the role of the lover. If you love somebody, you honor at least two necessities at once. One of them is to recognize something very dangerous, or very difficult. Many people cannot recognize it at all, that you may also be loved; love is like a mirror. In any case, if you do love somebody, you honor the necessity endlessly, and being at the mercy of that love, you try to correct the person whom you love. Now, that's a two-way street. You've also got to be corrected.
As I said, the people produce the artist, and it's true. The artist also produces the people. And that's a very violent and terrifying act of love. The role of the artist and the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don't see. Insofar as that is true, in that effort, I become conscious of the things that I don't see. And I will not see without you, and vice versa, you will not see without me. No one wants to see more than he sees. You have to be driven to see what you see. The only way you can get through it is to accept that two-way street which I call love.
Preciso de alguém do meu lado que me dê um bom dia com um sorriso bem rasgado. Amor pela manha, pela tarde e pelo fim do dia.
(amor puro fresco como a brisa do mar
Tenho montes dele guardado e está quase a estragar)
I would have called, wasted.
I would have been ashamed today.
but still, remain wasted.
what a waste of life I am.
Where are you, what you do.
Do you even care, where am I, what I feel?
I might be drunk, but I don't call nor I message. My self restrain should mean something.
Sometimes I wish I could break through this gate. Could be jailed, locked down, lost, considered a mad man. But would open the doors that I closed.
I sometimes realize that sleeping is underrated. And it might be a delirium, but I feel like the last time I had a care free sleep was beside you. Now I worry at uncertainty. Even when I would wake up in the middle of the night, it was just a matter to turn to the side and see your angel face, more often than not mildly smiling[1]. There, in the middle of the night, for a brief period, I did not care, I did not worry, there was no concern. It was a bubble, a bubble called Love. We could get the blankets over our heads, shielded from the world, giving ourselves completely to each other. Bare bodies and souls. No light besides the shine in your eyes. No sound besides the beat of our heart. No interruptions besides the flow of our wishes.
Of course, I would shatter this bubble way too often. Saying the wrong things, running away in the morning, taking the wrong flights away. Making you cry at every departure. Suffering and in the process, making you suffer even more.
But never could shake the feeling that being with you was truly being home. It felt right, it felt real. I apologize - It *was* right, it *was* real.
I closed that gate. Left it wide open for whomever is at the right place, at the right time, with the right ticket, and the heart set on the right person: You.
You are right. And you always were right.
[1] almost always I refrained from waking up your devil thoughts, though, seldom, it did happen.
Taken care of. Loved by someone that actually cares, putting actions before words and thoughts.
And because that Love shows, making you happy, joyful, light.
On this day, I never gave you flowers, smiles, kisses. I did not cook for you. I did not hug you or caressed you until you fell asleep.
Whomever fulfils and embraced your dream, turning into reality, deserves it. Pampering you, and being pampered by a True Love.
I, I remain sealed in my world.
Without looking out the office window and see you walk head held high, firm steps, beautiful light shining around.
That vision soothed all stress, all flurry, all the disquiet.
And also made me inequivocally sad - I saw you go, every evening, unto somewhere else than my arms.
Yet, her I am. Never, ever, running after you. With stress, with flurry, with disquiet.
Without you.
From our first lunch alone to the crowning of our innermost desires.
What a waste from them on, interrupting our perfect dance far too often, far too long.
I wanted so badly to write you. Gradually, memories of struggles, indecisions, unbalances, of useless fighting and resisting fade. And only the core remains.
Today, I remembered working from your dining table. You waking up for a simple hug, a caress, still half a sleep. Worried that I was awake, that something may unravel. I believe you kissed me on the cheek for good luck, and went back to bed. My heart was full. Everything went smoothly, and when I finally went to sleep, I could hug you.
Saying I Love you alone is not enough. Writing I Love you is not enough. Sharing, being there, experiencing care and thoughtfulness, that on the other hand fulfills us.
You woke up the next morning, and I headed back to town with you. I should have stayed, waited for you, hug you, taken care of you, make you a meal, give you a message, celebrate another success together.
I was blind, as blind as a man can be.
Not so subtle void - not even static over the radio silence.
Only dream waves, bringing fresh air, at times.
J’ai voulu rêver plus loin
Voir l’horizon chavirer
Et chaque jour je me souviens
Que j’aimerais oublier
La nuit où pour tout salir
Un autre a pris ta place
Le vertige, l’envie d’en finir
Que ton ombre s’efface
Mais rien n’a commencé
Rien n’a fini
Je suis restée à quai / J’ai failli m’embarquer
Mes souvenirs sont en lambeaux
Ils s’effilent par endroits
Et même s’ils prennent l’eau
Ils ne me lâcheront pas
J’ai peur de te sourire
De voir mes lèvres te mentir
Et je crains de t’en vouloir
De rester là sans savoir
Que rien n’a commencé
Rien n’a fini
Je suis restée à quai / J’ai failli m’embarquer
----------
Et sans musique, sans toi.
The plane deviates, lands and is blocked half way. Maybe, just maybe I could then have a glimpse of you.