Friday, November 29, 2013

Essência



Sabes, eu vivo bem sem ti. Sem ti como sem qualquer outra pessoa. Não que não faça diferença a ausência da tua presença mas há sempre outro alguém, outra coisa que me distraia. Vivo bem sem ti. Mas nunca vivo completamente sem ti porque as minha memórias ressurgem no dia-a-dia e tu ocupas partes importantes delas. Nunca vivo sem ti e o viver resume-se, por veze,s a existir e existir todos o conseguimos fazer bem.

Por vezes sinto que não vivo, como se estivesse simplesmente sentada a uma janela a ver a vida a passar e de vez em quando vejo a tua cara na de pessoas que ocupam lugares que tu já ocupaste, o passado a tentar misturar-se com o presente para me lembrar o que foi um dia realmente viver. E ser feliz, porque o fui.
Vivo sem ti mas contigo dentro de mim, no meio de tantos e tantas outras que ocupam as minhas memórias. Por ora, no entanto, tu ocupas o centro das mesmas. Vivo no fundo sem mim, a quem deixei perdida num canto qualquer, quando me esqueci de tudo o que ser eu implicava, uma complexidade oca pois devia apenas deixar-me ser.

Ser e esquecer. Por breves momentos descartar o que já se foi como é tão fácil para tantos. Porém, descartar o que já foi é deixar-me a mim de parte, a mim a quem a memória consome, a mim a quem a memória alimenta, a mim que, por vezes, sinto que nada mais sou que memórias. Num mundo em que mesmo memórias partilhadas têm sempre perspectivas diferentes. Talvez por isso nunca tenha sabido o que achar de mim. Encontrei-me diversas vezes mas continuo sem me saber.

Acho que me encontrei fora de mim e talvez desta perspectiva me consiga finalmente saber.





inspired by He's more myself than I am. Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

This



It was me there. It was not a different version of me, I don't come in different flavours. It was me that you saw, maybe you have changed the angle but you saw what was already there, I have not changed.
There I was, overtaken by my feelings, knowing there was nothing I could do about it. You can't control what comes naturally if it is all that you are and can see at that moment. Not even if you know it will hurt you, not even if the cause of it will eventually go way and the people who will come out harmed are the ones that stay, not if you love all of these people unequally - you can subside love but do you do the same to a passion that consumes you?

Some have come and gone, some have stayed and changed and I stand immutable, like a rock watching the passing of time. Like the rock that people see in whichever way they want, according to the meaning, fears, hopes and wishes they deposit on it.
But I'm just me, and inside thit rock that's made of the most fragile glass is a hourglass, with two very different sides, one made of red and gold, the side of the passion that does not subside, the passion that tells its object that the right words will never come when in truth that is an utter lie, the passion that lingers no matter how many miles and months are in the middle. The passion that should have never been.
The other side, the rest of time, a shadow of the opposite's vivacity, the gloom of emptiness, the remains of the good that was, the broken hope for what will never be, the dream that lost its spirit, the one who didn't see the time passing by and people leaving and changing and leaving her behind lost in the leftovers of the reality that is now only real for her.

No one told her that life was to be ever so hard nor that she had to choose.

She still has this. Herself.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

An apparent nothing full of countless things


It will never be enough, nothing I can do will ever be enough, you will never grasp the entire concept as I won't really explain it and you will never know what I meant.

Not when I don't know what to say.
Not when I don't know what to do.
Not when I don't even know what I meant or felt.
Not when you are not me and you can't help in sorting out myself.

We are very good friends.
Better than we know. Less that what it could be.
Connected by something.
Maybe the akwardness in understanding feelings at their core.
(...)
Maybe it was just fortune putting us in each other's way.
Even though I don't believe in fortune. Yet recognising that I couldn't really ever see this coming.

I just don't know. It's always like this. I always get the feeling I have so many, this insane amount of, things to say to you, yet I don't know what it is.
I adore you. I miss you already.

And if the song I wrote went to its final chords and I'd never see you again I would say I have loved you.





One will never know if the truth lies in the whispered comments, the doubts in everyone's minds, the impressions that were given or in what was actually there: an apparent nothing full of countless things.