quarta-feira, 23 de novembro de 2016

Faz muito tempo que eu não quero mais poesia.
Nem da minha parte, nem da sua.
Faz muito tempo que palavras bonitas não me levam a lugar nenhum.
Faz muito tempo que enquanto ando pelas ruas em que a gente se beijou, eu não desejo esbarrar em você.
E quando penso em você, o calorzinho que me invadia, morreu e deu lugar a um belo e lindo nada.
Eu pensei que antes eu estava vivendo. Mas eu estava sobrevivendo a você.
Depois que eu vi que você me mataria, eu resolvi matar o que eu sentia, e descobri que isso me salvaria de morrer por você.
Hoje respiro. Não suspiro nem quando escuto aquela música que você cantava e eu nunca soube se era pra mim ou pra sua outra namorada, aquela que você escondia, mas que no fundo eu sabia, que existia muito mais do que eu.
Hoje foi o dia em que decidi me lembrar de você. Destranquei aquela caixinha que se mantinha na parte mais sombria do meu coração. E ao abri-la me deparei com o vazio.
Você sumiu de mim. E eu nem sei dizer quando, como ou porquê.
Só se que se foi.
Eu queria escrever uma carta de adeus, mas o vazio, seu novo lar, não tem endereço.

domingo, 13 de novembro de 2016

You are the third I start to hate.
I don't even know why or how, I simply hate you.
The other two I don't really hate anymore.
I stoped hating on them after I forgot their names.
And this won't have an end, unless I stop allowing guys like you into my life.
You, whose name I can barely remember as I write this.
I remember the one before the three of you, though.
I remember him.
So don't blame me for this hate letter.
Blame him.
I destinate this letter to you, because I promised I would stop writing to him, 
if I'm not brave enough to address it.
Which makes me hate you even more.
I hate how I use you to distract me from hating him.
I hate how I can't hate him.
I hate how I hate everyone but him.
I hate everyone who isn't the only one I should hate.
I hate you because you aren't him.

terça-feira, 8 de novembro de 2016

I miss those marks I left in your neck.
I miss them and all the stories you came up with just so your grandparents wouldn't find out what really caused them.
I miss saying how cute you are just to piss you off.
I miss saying you're cute in hopes you would never realize the handsome young man you are.
I miss how my bottom lip used to get sore from your aggressiveness.
I miss feeling your hunger in my mouth.
You used to taste like summer. 
But it's already winter where you are.
You're enjoying the snow, aren't you? 
You went all the way there for it, didn't you?
It's summer here.
It became summer the moment the airplane I was in landed.
And it's been summer ever since.
Here, it still tastes like summer. It still tastes like you.
The other day, as I walked on the street, a 4 year old boy was waving and screaming, from inside a bus, at his friend, a boy walking in front of me.
I heard it for 3 seconds, until the bus moved forward, but I'm very sure the boy kept screaming, since we could still see his open mouth aiming at us from the window.
The boy in front of me didn't seem to bother anymore. He waved once and kept walking after the screams became inaudible.
The boy inside of the bus, though, I have a feeling he kept screaming.
I have a feeling he kept screaming until he met his friend again.
I have a feeling he kept screaming even after his voice was over.



terça-feira, 1 de novembro de 2016

I thought I didn't fit in your life.
Now I see I was right.
I tried so hard to fit in, though.
I'd speak in a smaller voice, just so it could fit in your small ears, just so people outside our small talks wouldn't hear it.
I'd put less expressions in my face, so it could fit in your "small dictionary of reactions I get from other people" you carried, proudly, under your small arms, as you walked around your small city, with your baby steps, being watched by small minds, small people, with small eyes.
I never brought you to the immense complex forest of carnivorous plants my thoughts lived in. 
I thought it would be too much for you to handle. 
You are a person who grew up only seeing, and never touching, beautiful domestic flowers in a garden a hired gardener always took care of, after all..
I was embarrassed of my big voice, my infinite and quite weird facial expressions, the cannibal tribe that ate me up everyday.
I never thought of opening your ears, nor expanding your dictionary, or unfolding that map bigger than your house I kept inside my pocket. 
I thought so little of you I couldn't allow myself to think big of myself.
I tried to minimize my being.
I thought I would fit in your tiny little world by belittling myself.
I didn't fit in your life and you were never big enough for me.
Try to make an elephant catwalk with ant sized high heels on.
I see beauty in both elephant and ant.
I will always admire anthills.
I can spend hours watching ants on their way home, but as soon as I try to follow them I end up smashing them.

Ps.: Elephants and ants were not made to walk with high heels on.