Transcrever emoções, sentimentos, passado, futuro ou desejos, é viver - ou reviver - tudo o que há de melhor.

terça-feira, 22 de fevereiro de 2011

Hoje a saudade me abandonou.

Percebendo extasiado que a nostalgia o deixava, colocou as mãos em forma de concha envolvendo a boca e gritou:

“Aonde vais? Qual o motivo do feliz abandono?”

“Não te preocupes. Logo volto. Vejo que não precisas de minha presença uma vez que tens, por hora, a alegria e os breves devaneios que vêm acompanhados de alguns sonhos.”

“E quanto a saudade? E se a saudade de ti, nostalgia, me visitar, o que lhe digo?”

“Não te preocupes, diga-lhe que não me demoro. Conhecendo-lhe bem, sei que logo requisitarás minha presença.”

“Não vás até muito longe. Se converso contigo, sei que tens compromisso profundo com minha pessoa.”

“És sempre tão incoerente? Logo volto, já disse para que não te preocupes. Se achar um espaço, logo volto.”

Puxou ar para os pulmões. Que era aquilo, afinal? É um tanto emocionante pertencer à vida. E como dizer oi para alegria? E veja bem, alegria não é felicidade. Não se deixe confundir. Ser triste pode não ser grande empecilho para encontrar o caminho da felicidade.

“Olá, espero que tenhamos tempo suficiente para conhecermo-nos melhor.” – disse ele, agora sem gritar, numa voz que não conseguia esconder o temor.

“Que tipo de pessoa conversa com a própria alegria?”

“Alegra-me ainda mais saber que obedeces à minha pessoa, e que se tuas palavras me agradam, sou eu quem merece a glória.”

“Mas se te alegras ainda mais, tens mais alegrias com quem conversar. Ou serei eu mais intensa a cada comentário?”

“Não me canses, não fales tanto. Poupe-se para que conversemos ainda um bocado durante a manhã.”

domingo, 13 de fevereiro de 2011

Foreign language, foreign heart

I - What's the text about

I miss every single thing that I remember about my past.
I miss talking to Amanda, telling her that I would visit her and stuff. I also miss going out with some friends. Going to Augusta Street to see a Deluxe Trio’s concert. Man, that was nice. Good times. Good fucking times.
And I miss falling in love again and again and being hurt. Believe me. I miss being Eduardo Pataca. I miss reading 1984. I miss school and being that nerd guy reading Harry Potter during the History class while an annoying guy wouldn't stop talking. I miss the math classes, the time I used to teach a pretty girl who I loved so much at that time. I miss talking to Eduardo about her and about everything that had happened during the day.
I miss being sincere and I miss lying. I miss those days I used to tell people that I had already kissed a girl and it wasn’t true. I miss the days when everything was hope. I miss everything.
Yeah, I think the main thing I miss is hope. It’s pretty difficult to live with no hope, you know? Everything is gray without hope. If you have no faith in your destiny, you understand what I’m saying. Perhaps we need some help. Professional help?
I miss being a teenager. I miss being important to someone. I’m deeply upset, and still, I miss being upset. Is this fucking life worth the damn suffering? Everything makes me sick. Missing stuff makes me sick.

I miss working at my old workplace. I miss Franklin. I miss those fucking Japanese men. I miss Ney and even Leandro. I miss talking and having fun while working. I miss every fucking day that I’ve lived.
I miss being a child. I miss those days when I wanted to be eighteen as soon as possible. I miss those days when I used to go to school in the morning and sleep the rest of the damn day.
I miss all of that romance, I miss writing, and although I don’t know how to play guitar, I miss playing it. I miss being clever.


II - Filling it(?)

I really want to forget everything, and in the next moment, I don’t want it at all.
I’m writing it just because I want to fill something that I feel is empty inside, but I cant. I don’t feel like if it was getting complete. I don’t think these fucking scars are healing. And, believe me, I don’t think I would like them to heal. Can you understand me? Please, tell me you can. You and me both can feel a lot better if you understand everything you’re reading, and I know I’m making it a little more difficult to understand since I’m using a foreign language, but you also understand it, don’t you?
I don’t get it. I guess I like to suffer, I guess I like to miss things, ‘cause I’ve ruined one of my unique chances of being happy. And I do not regret it. Do you get it? I don’t either.
And hey, did I tell you that I miss that white uno? ‘Cause I really do. I miss going out at night and coming home when the Sun was already rising. But what can I do? Will those fucking days come back? Would you help me? Or is it better to construct new days? A new story? A new book?

But… Can I keep missing everything? The answer doesn’t really matter, because I’ll miss everything either way.
I miss thinking that people care about me. I miss thinking that people care about what I think or write. I miss having people reading the shit I write. I miss having someone who likes to write by my side. I miss you, son of a bitch. Yeah, you! I miss having you here, by my fucking side.


III - We're almost there

Would you give me hope? Would you help me get out of this stupid hole? Would you save me?
Would you let me save you? Would you let me be your guide? Would you be my guide? Would you come to hell with me? Would you say stupid and sad things by my side? Would you argue with me? Would you hate that big guy for whom people pray?
And did I tell you that I miss watching that fucking movie? Did I tell you that I miss watching FIGHT CLUB? Did I tell you that I miss watching ROMANCE and PRIDE AND PREJUDICE? Do I have to tell you? Isn’t it clear enough? Do I have to tell you that I’m not a happy guy? And believe me, it’s not drama. Not at all. I have no reason to do such thing. The thing is that I don’t feel the same way as millions of people. Or maybe, just maybe, they DO feel like I do, but they don’t have the chance to say so (perhaps they don’t have the balls).
I’m sorry if I spoiled your day, but if I did, please tell me, because I would feel A LOT better. I would see that I can still make difference in other people’s life, and that, that my friend, that’s what life is about. Influence. Don’t be such a bastard and deny such things. You and me both know that this is what life is about.
And don’t fuck with me, I know my life is not made of fucking flowers - step the lilies! - But I bet your life isn’t that good either. Do not fuck with me. Please, do not fuck with me.


IV - The last one

What else do I miss? Well… Were you part of my life? Well, then I miss ya! Even though you were a pain in the ass, I miss you! I miss all of the good and most of the bad things. I guess I could cry if I had tears inside my freaking eyes, but unfortunately I’m all dry inside. Perhaps made of stone? No way! If so, I wouldn’t feel that fucking pain. Otherwise I wouldn’t be broken inside. Believe me.
And just one more thing, because I’m not feeling comfortable to keep writing right now: Do not wish to be like me. Do not wish to feel the same way as I do. Never do so. But if you do feel like I do, please let me know. If you had the fucking patience to translate everything and read it, please, I said PLEASE, let me know. You’re crazy, but valuable.
See ya.

sexta-feira, 4 de fevereiro de 2011


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