i forget to remember you
- sometimes.

das confissões do eu

visivelmente abalados - os braços e monstros, as acumulações. teria sido trágico, penso, perplexa. teria sido o que queria que fosse. assim são as escolhas, aquilo a que se obstina, e ver clareza nas sequências não é sempre agonia, nem é sempre elevação. teria sido lento, intermináveis versos, não fosse a queda, a invasão. veio, você veio. há sempre um você a vir. há sempre um você a partir. e eu nunca sabendo desaparecer por completo ------------------------------------ redemoinho de promessas que transbordam, e a confissão de como eu nunca soube me afundar inteira nas coisas de que tenho medo.

the inevitable truth - that all is just a coincidence, that a coincidence is all anything ever is.

das confissões do eu

bloody hell ----------------------------- it hits me once in a while. depression. still here.

i cannot remember how it is not to feel this way.  the pool has gotten bigger and deeper every day, and i’ve been drowning for years.

maybe i figured i would have let go completely by now, but things don’t really work that way, do they? all the cruel facts don’t seem to be camping in the very middle of my forehead anymore, they have moved to darker, hidden corners of my brain. even so, there is always something pulling me downwards.

i still think of my life as the eternal replay of casimir pulaski day. me crying in the bathroom, the cardinal hitting the window, a winter shade – someone taking, taking, and taking. all the glory of it.

it’s such a shame. 

adeus, já é de manhã

so i closed the door on a standing, unshaken you and a pile of dirty dishes, cigarette buds and pieces of paper; the oh-so-familiar mess that fills up all the corners of your small apartment. i sorrowfully left you, our short and fading love story, your endless lies, my diminished pride and whatever affection i had left for the curves of your face, your stubbornness, our memories and the way you keep touching the tip of your nose. i left your hurtful lack of love, everything that drove us apart and the most painful obviousness of all: you were actually the one leaving me.

i tried to turn around from the moment i stepped into your cold living room, i did, i tried, though i wasn’t particularly relieved when i finally ended what had to be the strangest previously arranged goodbye party. for hours, sitting on your blue couch as uncomfortably as a camel swimming in the ocean, i: repressed a strong desire to kiss you as i listened to your absurd reasons and the cries of your unsettled, unhappy soul; felt very sorry for your inability to realize how important are all the things you were letting go; selflessly wished nothing but the best for you; cried; hated your stupid shirt, messy hair, bony knees and vast weakness; had a hard time accepting such a gigantic failure; could not believe a single word you said; felt very sorry for your inability to slow down and appreciate the present; faked a dozen smiles; hoped you would regret your decision; stared at your growing book collection, so different from mine; stared at the pictures stuck on your fridge door – abbott, hine, wall, davis; stared at your old computer’s screen and the coffee table your friend built you; stared at your emotionless eyes, stared at my own hands; felt very sorry for your inability to comprehend the lies you keep telling yourself; cried; waited for a real sign of warmth and endearment; argued about the same meaningless details that destroyed whatever connection we once had; was amazed by how quickly your feelings for me had disappeared; was amazed by how quickly all traces of my existence were erased as i gathered my things; realized, pathetically, that i still wanted you as much as ever, that i would have forgiven anything; felt like the classic fool as i acknowledged your detachment and thought to myself, again and again: you don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care.

i can suddenly discern the totality of our mistakes with great clarity – and i know i would have done almost everything differently, i would have followed my instincts, i would not have stayed. alas, incredible beauty of life, the past cannot be changed. you desperately wanted to believe, i got tired of loving for the both of us, all things go, all things must end. but antoine, menino, know this: there was no need to play with my heart.