Her hand around my waist
Guiding me to put
Here and there
Now and then
Our laughter filling the room
Or just the space between us
The opia made my heart race.
However, despite of the magic, I could still see her eyebags getting bigger and deeper, like a permanent shadow. It screamed tiredness, yet she still had on the most charming smile ever to be seen by any other human on Earth. One of those smiles, always accompanied by an admiring loving gaze. The expression of love in the most pure way.
I can't help but
doubt my eyes
the numbers, the deaths
it's been a very long time since I've felt like this
eyes dry longing to cry
something weighting down on my chest
Rio de Janeiro, the wonderful city,
where murders by the police never cease to rise
Salvador, the former city of joy,
its natural beauties now destroyed
I didn't choose this
I didn't vote for this
but the people chose this
Brazil chose this
is this what I am?
the blood running through my veins is
the same as the one of those
who fought for freedom but
the same as the one of those
who took it away
this is the ignorant blood
the manipulated people of
the Red Land
the ones who chose
I am no savior but
is it too hard to understand
I'm just trying to save myself
from this burden I bear
this burden I am
They had been friends for as long as they could remember. Running around at the age of 5 and playing in the rain at the age of 7. Braiding each other's hair at the age of 9 and failing miserably at baking cookies at the age of 12. They were inseparable. It wasn't unusual for people to mistake them for sisters! But after being apart for a lot more than 40 days, they were more than happy to see each other again. It was supposed to be intimate, small, simple... The local park, why not? The singing of birds as well as the fresh air wouldn't be a bother at all, even though those two had a lot of catching up to do. But it was a lot more than talking. It was looking into each other's eyes. Feeling one's hand against the other, or even better: each other's heat against one another. The beating heart of a flame that had never...
I miss loving and I miss being loved.
I miss feeling someone's arms around me, keeping me warm at night.
I miss waking up in the morning next to someone.
Someone who stayed.
I miss feeling someone's skin against mine.
Little touches and caresses and cuddles.
Lazy sunday mornings and late working nights.
Some newly brewed coffee and camomile tea.
I miss your voice.
And you alone.
In my illusions.
Because how can I miss something
I have never lived?
I already knew, when I was a child, what pain and loneliness were. I cried, I grieved and I suffered more than I'd care to admit. But with time, along that lonely road, I came to realise something, a pearl of empirical wisdom: don't live for others.
Your life is yours and you should decide what you want to do with it because nothing is eternal: it can be the things you do or the people you do them for. They'll all go away eventually, like everything in life. Like the trees that die in winter only to be reborn anew, but not quite the same, in spring. Maya Angelou once said people will never forget how you made them feel. So I ask you: how do you make yourself feel?
You are the only person who is going to be in your life from start to finish
you should live for you
take care of you
Never forget ...
My grandfather was part of the military. Many of his compatriots came from wealthy families and had never had to worry about being clothed or fed. But my grandfather did. He only integrated the military because it came with many premiums (family, housing...), and not because he wanted to "serve his country the best way he knew how". After the military coup of 1964, the world around him darkened. His friends from left-wing political parties and their families started to disappear. Some turned out to be dead ; a few came home not quite alive ; and some didn't come back at all.
He had to do something.
So one night he called the people he trusted the most, to whom he was united by blood and belief. His family. They all gathered and decided they could no longer watch while their country was torn to pieces. He gathered with the poets and the musicians and started writing: "Maybe we'll...
She's the kind of person who's always serious and collected ; the one you want to please.
She's the kind of person who's always looking after you, with discreet smiles and looks.
She's the kind of person who always pushes you to do better.
She's the kind of person who has kindness at heart.
She's the mentor you'd like to have as a friend.
We gathered in a circle, just like we used to so long ago. The 5 remaining of us, looking, examining rather, each other's pale, wrinkled and flaccid complexions. So much white, not so much hair. I don't believe we saw the years go by: the children played their innocence away, we cried our guards down, and those who cried before us returned to their primordial state: dust. Who would have guessed that out of all of us, we'd be the ones to last until the end? So much missed, yet so much lived. So many missed, yet so many lived. I feel the wind contradicting itself: North, South, future, past... all of them present. I remember my Ancient History filled with young and spontaneous moments. However, what comes to mind is another kind of memory.
It was summer, the only time I got to spend time with my dad. I had barely turned 6 and he was quite keen on me...