Dias difíceis

Tem dias que eu só agradeço por ter conseguido atravessar.

Comentários

Postar um comentário

Postagens mais visitadas deste blog

The visitor

And once again, Loss comes to greet me. "Hello", she says, when I suddenly notice her standing behind the door I carefully open. Her body is cloudy, diaphanous - she herself almost a ghost. Her eyes are the only part that can be seem, of a shiny black color, like black ink in white paper. Fascinating, they are. She comes in without asking for permission. _I've been avoiding you..._ I weakly protest. _I know. You always are. She looks around the house and touches objects, things that remind me of someone lost. Her cold breath spreads white steam. She stands in front of the mirror. _I didn't always look like this.  _How were you, before? She suddenly changes into a little girl, blond braidings and vivid expression. Than turns into a teenage boy, black messy hair covering his eyes and a cigarette. She than become an old gentleman, all wrinkles and weak hands...  _You are every single loss in this world._ I finally understand. She goes back to her old form, in si...
Leia mais

Maria

Seus olhos verdes que sempre me convenciam a fazer o que você queria ainda brilham no sol. Por mais estranho que eu tenha achado antes, agora gosto do seu cabelo. Às vezes eu lembro de uns momentos avulsos, biscoitos com suco e apostilas (que não estudamos), guaraná Jesus e bolo de chocolate. Lembro também do suco Do Bem, das músicas que você punha pra eu ouvir (admito que gostei de várias) e dos pedacinhos de letras que você dizia e sempre se aplicavam tão bem à situação. Odeio perceber o quanto você influenciou meu gosto musical, eu que me orgulhava de ser tão independente. Odeio saber que eu comecei a discussão. Odeio não saber o que aconteceu com o seu ex e se você está bem. Eu normalmente gosto de usar palavras pra resolver tudo, e quase nunca acho difícil falar das coisas. Das coisas da escola, talvez, ou de história, mas de como tá tudo errado sem seu abraço de bom dia eu simplesmente não consigo. Não dá pra voltar no tempo e mudar o que já foi. O que a gente planta, colhe...
Leia mais

On Pigeons

I knew pigeons died in the same abstract way one knows, for example, that pedestrians die. You hear about it, you can rationalize the fact that it is true, they must sometimes die, considering the risks and all. But if you haven’t seen it happen, the idea is as thin as air. And if something is intangible, it’s as good as if it didn’t exist.                 That morning, the death of pigeons came into existence for me. Happily trotting along my usual path, I encountered a dead pigeon. Crushed would be a more accurate description. You could barely tell it was a pigeon, or that it had ever been one, if it weren’t for the wings. Two widespread white wings, plastered on the pavement, on top of the zebra crossing. There wasn’t blood, guts or any sort of gory evidence of its once-living nature; just two white wings and a gray mass where the body should have been. It seemed hopelessly poetic: wings that once crosse...
Leia mais