Capaz / Não-Capaz / Incapaz

Sinto-me extremamente fraco. Não controlo coisa alguma. Sinto-me impotente. Estou extremamente cansado de sentir-me assim, mas não sei o que fazer. Considerei algumas absurdas hipóteses. É tudo tão escuro...  Falhei em coisas demais. Esta incapacidade me maltrata. Não consigo perceber como posso fragilizar-me tanto. Tento convencer-me de que não sou assim, mas não consigo mentir tão bem.

Estou tão cansado de tentar...! Tu me deixas fraco demais. Arrependo-me por ter tropeçado em ti. Amaldiçôo aquele momento. Esta incapacidade... Não posso baixar a guarda. É algo em que sou péssimo, manter as defesas altas. Eu queria muito ter o ódio como aliado, mas não posso sequer esforçar-me para isto. Não sou esta pessoa. Já não sei que pessoa sou. Sei que tenho nojo de mim mesmo, e entendo pelo que deve ter passado. Sei que não sou muitas coisas. Estou certo de que não sou apropriado. Não sou forte, não sou o bastante, não sou agradável por muito tempo, não carrego comigo a beleza ou algo que seja do interesse comum. Entendo tua escolha, mas não posso deixar de abaixar a cabeça e estalar a língua com desgosto a cada vez que penso nisto. Às vezes me pergunto quando foi que me tornei tão disfuncional. Não me encaixo bem em lugar algum.

Tenho tantas coisas ruins para contar! Meu estômago não me deixa em paz. Preciso arrumar um jeito de livrar-me disto. Não sei quanto tempo posso aguentar. Estou cansado de comprimir os lábios e balançar a cabeça negativamente. Não posso fazer parte disto. É pesado demais.Talvez eu devesse... não sei. Pensei que fosse impossível derrotar quem já está derrotado, mas enganei-me uma vez mais.

O mal foi cortado na altura do caule.

Solid(ão)ariedade

Hoje, ao chegar em casa, me deparei com uma carta assinada por Tainá:

Every time I had my heart broken, I took a dive into either studying, or working. If I hadn’t had my heart broken so many times, I would not be a book lover, neither would I speak English. I wouldn’t be able to understand some stories, and would never – ever – wish to be a writer.

If I hadn’t suffered, I wouldn’t have gotten better. And I’m pretty sure I still need to suffer an awful lot in order to become what I dream of being, but this pain is very tiring, and sometimes I simply prefer happiness other than improvement.

There’s something you should know about it: the deeper you dive into studying, the more frustrated you get. When it comes to knowledge, the more you accomplish, the farther you become from relief.

That shouldn’t impede you from wishing to be smarter, though. I fight myself every day, trying to convince me that smartness is more important than anything, but I seem to be losing the battles.

Um QUÊ

Não consigo pensar em tarefa mais árdua chüe a de descrevê-la. Meus caros, não há no mundo tempo suficiente para chüe alguém possa cansar-se de sua presença. Não me arrisco a descrevê-la fisicamente, só o chüe vos digo é chüe é linda. Cuatro pessoas converteram-se em poetas após uma tarde em sua presença. Uma vez envolvido em uma conversa com ela, vossas excelências, eschüece-se o mundo. Pouchüíssimas pessoas são tão agradáveis. O jeito com o cual não se importa com chüem está ao redor ouvindo sua conversa... caríssimos, ela é improvável. Não sei chüe tipo de artista se arriscaria a produzir algo tão original, mas temos de admitir chüe um bom trabalho foi feito. Não tenho certeza de chüe isto represente grande saliência em sua vida, mas afirmo, sem temer estar errado, chüe é bem chüista em cualchër lugar. O homem mais otimista não imaginaria tamanha personalidade combinada à tanta beleza.

Mean in your head

I like it when you kindly hide your bangs behind your ears, I like that goddamn beautiful smile of yours, your thin lips, your cozy hugs, and the softness of your skin. But what I'm really interested in is your brain. I mean it.

UNDER THE GROUND - UNDERGROUND

I guess I’ll never forget the day in which I saw you coming through that door on the subway.  We engaged a conversation because of one of your tattoos. I’ll never forget it. And in that very moment I thought about writing a story. There’s no way I could ever forget it.

We got to be friends. Do you still remember the way we used to profile people based on the books they were reading? I knew I was in love. I was truly in love. And then there was that day in which the sun happened to bright a little bit more than the usual, and we’ve kissed. That was the beginning of it. I still had the image of you coming through that very door. I was sure of something: That would kill me. I was going to suffer. A child could tell you were too much to me. I was not enough to entertain you for much longer. You were way too much to me.

Do you still remember how I used to take pictures of you? My pictures, my texts and my paintings were the reason for you to be interested in me in the first place. My artistic personality kept you from leaving me sooner.

But, as I said, I was doomed to suffer. I can still remember your hair’s smell and texture. And I keep trying to fall in love with the next girl who comes through that subway door.

I’ve failed to get over you. But what has really surprised me, is that you’ve cut your own wrists because you were unable to get over me. And I was baffled by that letter of yours. You could never find someone as talented as myself. You should’ve seen the way I blushed when I read what you had written. You said I was too much for you. Talk about tragedy!

Truth to be told, I couldn’t do better than you, as well as you couldn’t do better than me.

I still profile people through what they read, honey, but I’m no longer able to write, paint or take pictures. I was right, after all. I knew I would suffer after having tasted your lips. I just regret not having told you that. I hope you forgive me for not keeping the promise of not omitting information from you. I wonder whether you still remember how we’ve promised not to hide information, but allowed each other to lie as much as needed.

Have I told you that I hate your suicide note? Dear beloved, I still hate you, because I know I can’t do better than you. Your beauty depresses me, your intelligence is the closest thing I’ve known from perfection, and your sadness gave my life meaning. That’s why I hate you. You had no right to make me fall in love with your flaws. 

An ego drop

“There’s no harm in trying” they told me. But that’s a lie. There’s a lot of harm in trying. But there’s also harm in not trying, to be honest with ya’ll. But that’s too much of a self-help talk. That makes me sick. I mean it. I kinda hate pep talk. No kidding. You have no idea of what kind of person I am. You’ve got no idea. Years have passed since the day I’ve decided to try and be polite. You know nothing ‘bout me. That’s part of the music though. And you’re charm in person. I figured I’m not making sense. That goddamn book got on my nerves. It does a lot of damage to my mind – or at least to my social life. But it’s not worse than you. You are actually the best definition of impact I’ve ever seen. Never would I have imagined such a mystery. But I can read your curves alright. Believe me. There ain’t no words to describe the mess we are living in, but I’m trying really hard, cuz you’ve hypnotized me, and made me believe that there’s no harm in trying.