8.

A kid's passion, a black passion, another guy, a few years ago. A hand full of fears I could swear that have belong to me. Then the year, the one's just passed. The one's just fade away. Then monologues, empty monologues that will never mean anything. Brasilian songs, a long-pretended lost record I've just found, pretending to warm a cold heart completed by distance, missings and loneliness.
The destiny have just made what all this means, and I can not even understand what is that. Whoever fashion tv's on, the house is empty, and I can hear the starts breathing.
I can't just fucking hold on on this, just like it doesn't even make any difference the tries I keep making to make all this become poetry, become beautiful to read, because it is not so beautiful to feel, to always wake up from nightmares I can not manage, those when I am wide awake.
Now those kids are kids no more, and they have passions way to old for them. They emacipated themselfs from me, they don't love me anymore. And I can't love this here either.
They haven't stop love me because I've changed, but because I went away. While me, I can't love this here because I've changed. They don't love anymore, not the "beautiful soul" one of them told me once I was.
I've been crying since I'm back, because I am really convinced that I will not make it. I think, I powerfully feel that I must be a part of you, while you crawling, while you say your first word. Because I can't just live in the most beautiful place without having what I fought for this year; I just can't live in the most beautiful country alone.
There's no more kid to offer myself to. There's no one in love with me, one of them have just told me a few minutes ago, "I don't love you anymore, I am finally seeing someone, and I really like her. You do not have to worry again of hiding your friendship fearing my fall for you. I was in the floor already, but now I like someone else". I just though I was almost sure I'd give my friendship, and more I can't give. But maybe I haven't at all, not for him. For a moment I was in peace with it, with a smile on my lips. Then I realized that more I stay here, more I am alone.
I know in there I'm alone too, but I can hold my baby, I can hug him, I can keep him safe.
I admit, I just want him to remember me. Like these kids will not.

.

Sadness in my eyes, in my soul, in me. Where did my happiness go? Why can i not just smile to you, like I did before? Smile without the sadness. A happy smile. A loving smile, my smile to you. I like you, i like you even more than i did before. I wish i could explain it to you, explain how I feel, but i can't, it is the sadness inside of me.
Please, don't worry I will be fine. With you I will.
I will be happy again.
I promise that I will.

<3

The plate in my hands that I’m washing says Designed in Sweden, made in Portugal. The phone rings, a call from Germany. A visitor in the office, an American. But I’m not the one who was in Sweden to see how the plate got it's form and shape. Not the one who saw how the plate got made. I'm not the one who answers the phone and not the one who welcomed the visitor. I’m the one with the memories. The memories, deep inside of me. Myself with those memories connected with all those countries.
I feel alone, I only can share it with you, feel it with you, know it with you, but you are not here.
I feel alone, not myself, losing myself scared to give away the memories and the connection.
Come back and find me coz I feel alone….

7.

Now that I've found myself talking in each corner of my house, alone, to nobody but myself, my soul desperate to find proofs that what I've been through this couple of months before this is true, the american life, the american dream everybody ask me about, stuff that I want to mark and remark, things that I want to keep; now I know: I am blind, confused and confused again, fearing my own madness, my emptiness that never leaved me, the solitude always abandoned. screw all the feeling I must have in here, talking alone all the time makes me fall apart down the walls, a lousyness that makes me remember my childhood times when I was empty too, without knowing it. Because here, I don't have you. Here I can't hold on, not without you holding me. Here, there's no empty parking lots, here there's no Panera Bread, here there's no Macys to fear. Here is no answear to all the questions I've been questing for, and now the tear is sign that not now, not tomorrow or in fifty years you will belong to me the way you use to. What kind of sister leaves forever?