I know it seems I let you go. I know it seems I catched time, and now it belongs to me. But I haven't let you go, and time doesn't belong to me.
I know it seems I don't care for you, or for this distance, so crude, painfull and real. All the silence does make it feel even more real, but I can't help it, 'cause, ok, I'm letting it go now, I don't want to be the only one in pain. I don't want to be the only one who remembers all of it, all the steps in the dark, or twilight, all the sounds, all the cries and smiles, and laughs. I don't. I close my eyes and I see you coming. But you're not smiling, you are coming to let me know you don't remember any of us, nothing we were. You're coming to tell me we never were anything, just an excuse to bear with loss and heart burns. You are coming to let me know I'm so foolish for believing love is real, and memories are eternal. You are not coming to stay, just like we were born to be apart. And it all doesn't hurt anymore, it's just so scary for not having any opportunity for change and mutation. I am a mutation of you. And you walk in my skin, and you live inside me. I will let you go when and where you want to go; you can go and let all doors open. But just let it be like that. Don't close them.

I know it seems I forgot. But it's all masks. Can't you see? It seems Carnival. It seems lonely, it's a long road without civilization, it seems like a dark winter. It seems despair, and an eternal prision.
I know I could send letters, I know I could touch more. I know it's always you who call; I know it's always me who says I miss you.

But I just can't live with or without you. And so, then, I just keep myself sitting. Waiting. Wishing.

run for this

Just let me love you. Let me show there's no deeper despair than falling without no one to let us know that the world stills complete, only our hearts are broken, only despair is real. Ours. But there's hunger, there's war, there's death and we still can't control hearts bleeding.
Let me show you the world, let me show you're fortunate enough to feel it, 'cause you're here, and without grass, without tons of dark stones, and magnificient walls of sand the world keeps itself spinning wether you like it or not. The world can't wait for you. But I will, and if we must we'll keep running until we'll catch that sunset again with the world on our shoulders.

there's hate like roses, there's panic, a room of panic, a panic room. I'm exausted, so tired, so drowned in a hundred beds of silk sheets, with spiders, with you. Panic rooms, empty of you, full of me.

I'm so tired of my life. Every day my skin thinks she's capable of absorving a new cool brise, but that ideal is foolish, it's a terrible ideal for those who dream higher than this passion for you. god, sacrifice all the shit a human heart cannot heal, because I want to scream and I dare not. I just want to go home.


the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

clear water, clear wind, clear dust

Just need to sit outside, country on one side, city behind me, and a house on my left. Want the airplanes far away, and the highways forget, want a little snow flake, and a cry upstairs. Want to know it is not forever, but even then live the sound of eternity. Because some things can remain warm even through the darkest and the coldest winter. The softness of your baby skin, a hard floor against my chest, lights, tree lights, christmas lights. Real christmas lights. And a pool over there, a pool that is always listening to the twilight; that holds the skie's tears, and the emptiness of its face, when it's warm weather. The clear forgiveness of the attitudes, clear as water, as wind, as dust.
And in here, having with me the immortal knowledge that you are forever. It makes me want to go back, because there's someone wanting me. Myself.

"Living here day by day, you think it's the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time... many years... before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It's not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am."


Nuovo Cinema Paradiso, Giuseppe Tornatore

It's gotta be my turn now. I need to show my sadness and I want everybody to notice I can not breathe. I want to cry in front of a store, in front of a doll and I want the doll to confort me. I need a colder touch than my own, I need to feel something more. I write this in despair, tomorrow's the day, tomorrow's just one more day, christmas eve. And I write the tears that Ihave right now, and the air I can not have for myself. I don't have time for me anymore. But I need that time, now. Preciso que tudo se desmorone. Não consigo aceitar tudo e não ter nada para mim. Needs that are lost inside all the things we can not hide. I know I'm not the only one that's willing to die, to not feel this. Because this is not good to feel at all. I feel lonely, in the dark, emancipated from obsessions that were never mine, because I've never been obsessive about anything. And maybe my own problem is that. Being so nude of warm feelings. And at the same time it's warm I feel. I can not breathe. Help me breathe. Ajuda-me, por favor.

Embrace

Psychosometic insomnia. Nightmares. Somewhere in between, there's where my subcounsciousness lies. The zombie, vampire myth embraces me, and I feel the weight of immortality over my shoulders, over my heart, over my everything. But there's more than loneliness you know? There's a deep and grotesque feeling of solitude that is hanged on my eyelashes that distort that image of my everything.
And the feeling of being, becomes a mistery, something that if no one can explain, describe, I can not feel. The what becomes who, who is always you, you become me, 'cause I'm made of you. In my skin that cries your distance.

As I'm walking the streets that I used to walk to school when I was a little girl,
I'm thinking about what I'm missing.
About why I feel so empty.
Every time I have to tell myself it will be OK, and that there will be a day that I will feel everything that all of you have around you.
That I will feel the wind that is blowing where all of you are living.
I will hear the languages, eat the food, sleep in a bed that's not my own.
Every time I have to tell myself we are under the same sky.
Same sun, same moon, same stars.
I'm half way, still the same street, it used to feel like a never ending street.
But now it feel so small and short.
I wish the distance was short. Wish that all of you where living in that street.
So when I was little I could pick you up and you could come to school with me.
Now i'm almost home, I only have to cross one more street.
Same street I'm living for almost 19 years.
Well almost 18 cause,
one year I spent in a place where all of you were too.
One year, that went too fast, that hurts in my heart.
But so glad I did it.
I love you all of you!

A gardener without flowers

My mouth is full of silence that was born since the era that you departed, and the silence is raising to more, much more pain. It is something so powerful that all the things that have nothing to do with it, doesn't mean anything anymore. They were forgotten.
But it so depressively funny the fact that the human being find support in solitude and in the agony of time, that we can stand so much, even when we think there's not much more to stand. Because sometimes eternity touch us, and then we mortals become titans greater than Hercules.
But this is not the way I want to be, this is not the things I want to accept through my whole life. Because it's not good to fell abandoned even if we can stand, and even if we can build lifes and walls against it. Because I want to have you in my life, because you saved my life like Hercules saved Hera. This is what I am trying to scream all along. I do not want a life without you.

Do you know how hard it's been to not give you my hand all these months?
And I don't want to talk about those words we all say that we belong together no matter how many miles are keeping us appart, because that's bullshit. And no games can prove me wrong.

'Cause my love is real, my fears are hard to fight, and loss is solitude as a main dish. And its hard for me to have it, even harder than a beautiful little girl eating soup.

What's only left are tears.
Tears for the angry and the lost control inside of me, but nobody knows.
Tears for not seeing you, not feeling you, of not able to talk to you.
Tears for wishing I could come, and see you again.
I miss you so much,
I need my friend, who can see when something is wrong.
Who only have to look into my eyes, and knows that I need a hug.
I feel so confussed and sad and at this moment I need you.

I need you.

Calm

It makes me calm, while I'm so hurt, confused and sad. It doesn't matter where I am. Sometimes it's in the bus, while the bus stops and goes on, people go in and out.
Sometimes it's when I'm at school, where my classmates scream and yell and I get irritated.
Right now it's in my messy bedroom. Even though I'm in my messy room and the mess drives me insane, it makes me calm.
I let the words come.
I can't even understand it,
but I wish I could.
It makes me feel so close,
and I listen, I almost can sing along...
I wish I knew what the words meant, I wish i spoke your language.
I will know it makes me even more calm than the song, coz that's how the language sounds like, calm.

of you

Everybody falls in love at least once before eighteen. Or at least have once been "gived" to someone and received a heart in exchange. Not me. I am eighteen, fearing it more and more each time I remember it, and I'm only pain and excuses, and solitude bigger than the sun. And it burns much more.
It's silly expressing this thought as in something as real as writting, but the necessity of both doing it and doing it in English lead me to this.
All my friends have been in a situation of kissing in the mouth of someone they liked and they were always wanting to talk about it, or just aswering my childish questions about things I can't talk about. But on the other hand I kissed already the guy my heart was suffering with. But it wasn't good enough, it was bohemic and unreal, was not true. It did happened, but I can't remember most of it. Alcohol had this things. For me, the worst things in my life did happen through it.
But the fact that I haven't fell in love with someone I could express my heart through shacky hands, naive smiles and heart beats without end, that makes me sad. Not because everybody else did, and not because I truly believe this is what I am questing for, but because I only want to know what is it like. If it's beautiful like everybody says it is, if I can have what my parents have, if it is immortal and eternal and unconditional. Maybe I just want it a little bit for me.
I am not sure if I had fell in love or not, by now. In a normal situation I would answer, off course. But talking with myself, there's this huge feeling that a broken heart is not the same as a love failure, so maybe I didn't. But not knowing it means I can't talk about it, and maybe that's what I need by now; to talk about beautiful things and forget you have to grow up without me, that's what's my mind is in all the time when I am awake. And when I dream.

11.

"Home is behind, the world ahead
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadow to the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade
All shall fade
All shall... fade."

When I see myself in someones writing, I feel the world upon my shoulders; those things I feel, I feel for you.

"Air and earth are my horizons. What lies between is what I am.

[...] Every day, the sun. Every day. And I walk east in the garden to see you, west through the country to be with you. O sun, my head fills with light. Do not turn me away from your easy lust, whole in the sky, white with heat. Do not bind me in layers of darkness, a worm in the brown cake of earth. My hands are bread I have made every day. The sun comes into my heart where sparrows nest. I am ridiculous and rolling on the ground, pleased with such company. Every day, the sun on the wall, the sun, lingering on a ripe fig. I am he who worships the sun, a space in my heart a bird could fill. I am one who listens to the grass speaking in the garden. May I chew the green blade of eternity in a garden filled with sun. May I walk into the fire and be burned like kernels of wheat, ground into the pulp of existence. May the sun come and bake me brown as bread. May I rise like bread everyday.

In the field with my cattle, my shadow sinks into black earth and rises. The smell of things growing. The horizon parts like waking lovers and like a child, the sun rises from their sleep. The world watches its steps, old man, old child, old king. Sun passing in the sky, light of all that can be said, shadow of hidden things. Every face watches, every eye turns; resplendent dawn and evening. Such passion is existence. Every day the sun king rides his boat, glory dripping like water from an oar. Every day the streets fill with people, every face, turning. Such power can not be measured. Such love can not be told. Unspeakable grace in the fields and cities. I dip my bread in milk and eat."

The Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Normandi Ellis