Um.

 

Acordou mas manteve os olhos fechados. Cheiro de leite morno, gosto de noite passada, silêncio de companhia. Estranhou. Aquele silêncio não era silêncio de casa vazia. Era silêncio de presença.

Abriu os olhos.

Acordou, mas manteve os olhos fechados. Cheiro de lençol morno, gosto de madeira, silêncio de companhia. Estranhou. Aquele silêncio não era silêncio de casa vazia. Era silêncio de presença.

Abriu os olhos.

 

dream #1

Two people who shared a life, shared a home, yet two people that never actually met. Two people that shared a love for the cool breeze, for the lonely moors, two people that never understood how could they feel so close to something or someone that didn’t exist. How could they always feel a presence that wasn’t there. How could they be one and two at the same time.

They lived their lives in quiet loneliness, breathing each other’s silence, feeding from each other’s presence, their mutual longing their only bond through space and time. They heard each other’s whispers around the house, like invisible children playing hide and seek. They drank tea from the same favorite cup, they played music from the same old music box, at night they looked at the same starry sky, wondering how could they feel so close to someone they couldn’t touch, someone that existed only within themselves, so near and so far. They felt it was real and that was all that mattered.

That house was their bond, their connection. Slowly they began sinking into themselves, spending more and more time exploring the secretof their place. Its stone walls, the secret rooms, the whispers of the trees in the garden; everything felt like a small world waiting to be explored.

They never tried to communicate; their awareness of each other’s presence was all they needed. Never a word said, never a sentence written. Just this feeling that didn’t need to be explained.

Sometimes they dreamed. Dreams of a cool breeze, dreams of what it felt like to hold each other’s hand. The kind of dream that that swallows you deep into yourself.
/part1

Seis meses, André. E nada mudou, nada muda.

Só mais dois sozinhos.

in loving memory

As palavras sao realmente nossas maiores armas.

[ virastes anjo, estrela
ceu e mar ]

.

.

ninguém pergunta se a gente quer nascer e ninguém pergunta se a gente quer morrer.

se vida tivesse test drive ninguém comprava.

… and care for the ones who stayed

Faço minhas as palavras de Gustavo Drummond.

A ficha só caiu quando vi a notícia no jornal. “Jovem turista português é morto na praia de Copacabana”. A foto do passaporte dele. A tomada das pessoas olhando o corpo dele, deitado na areia, coberto por um pano branco. Sozinho. Aquele corpo que já foi vivo, já riu comigo, já tomou sorvete, botou pimenta demais no pastel sábado, já brincou de fazer castelo de areia na praia de Algarve há tantos anos atrás. Tudo acaba um dia, mas eu nunca imaginei que para você acabaria tão cedo, André. Não sei o que dizer. Só fica agora essa tristeza esmagadora.

And care for the ones who stayed.

random #1

dois e dois
dois mais dois

na verdade
um sozinho