quinta-feira, 25 de novembro de 2010


Its written in our tomorrow, as a present from our yesterday - We forget. We forget what we ate last night, we forget the last word we spoke to a random stranger, and we forget if we did what we were supposed to do that day.
But there are some things, things that, along time, we shouldn't forget but we do it, anyway. We forget words that we should remember every day. We forget a smile. And, soon, we forget a face. Here is what comes with forgetting - you also become "forgetfull" for someone out there. Someone you hope won't do so. And the feeling about being forgotten is different. It doesn't actually makes any sound. It's like that whisper, you barely heard but, with no doubts, happened.
And when the only person you never forgot, or will ever forget, forgets you, that, right there, hurts more than anything else.
You become "forgetfull" for someone unforgetfull. To the one person you hoped would never forget. And that, just that, simply changes everything.
Whatever everything means.

"I am impossible to forget, but hard to remember" - Elizabethtown.

Me, Myself and I.

I always thought I knew a lot at the same time I thought I knew nothing. Who I was, what I did, what I tried to be - As years went by, It became just one, big, doubt. Still is. Selfish, I know, but I live with my thoughts more than I live with anyone else. And they never leave, no matter the other thousand thoughts in my head. Once in a while, it goes back and forth, like a cycle, made only to keep me wondering. Whenever it can.
And, whenever I can, to say who am I, is to say silence. There are times that, to say who am I, is to say past. Times that, to say who am I, is to say how I would like to be seen as. And there are times that, to say who am I, is to say who I hope to, someday, be.
I was never worried about being uncommon. This thought only came to me growing up, when I would watch people become more and more alike, and my fear to be just like them, started to grow with me. But, no matter how much I wanted to be different, truth is, I never was. I liked the main couple of the movies and I would find unfair when people would think of them with someone else than not each other. My favorite ice cream was flocus, and there was a time that it was chocolate, just like there was a time that my favorite color was pink. I just loved sports and my favorite book was a comic one - Turma da Mônica. I liked jumping trees, and I loved to ride my grandpa's horse, whose name was Star, and which I adored the name, even though I was never actually able to see the star in its head at all. I would never eat a brown or red or pink M&M as the last one, because I truly believed that my heart would became the same color as the last one I ate. And I would encorporate what each color meant. If I could, I would miss dinner just to watch Chiquititas and I never, ever, ever watched Barney or knew any of those songs. All I knew was that, one day, Nino finally got friends and that Zequinha could be unbelievably annoying. And to me, family was my Dad, and my mom, and my sister, and my aunt, and my uncle, and my cousin, and my grandma, and my grandpa, and my grandma's brother and his wife. And I waited, I confess, for the time in the night, where I would finally go to my Dad to ask him to tell us "a little story" before bed. And he did, for twelve years straight, no matter how late he got home or how tired he was.
I was never an unusual girl. I always talked like there was no tomorrow, and I suffered from the same heartbreak longer than I probably should. It's hard for me to say I am sorry sometimes, and my mouth works before my brain always when it's not supposed to. After a long time looking, I finally found friends that are real and that, no matter where life takes us, I will always call as my best friends, because they were my high school and they made it great for me. I live to catch moments and pictures speak memories to me. I soundtrack every step of my life. And, every time I listen a song, it feels like it can draw me. I despise goodbyes more than I probably should. And I can not describe myself besides superficial facts.
I am not different. I am like anyone else. But, after every back and forth my brain has made, it came to one stop - I am different for the people I have with me. Nothing more than that. When I look next to me, I see them. When I look behind, I see them. When I look foward, for an unkown and unsure future, I still hope to see them. And that made me realise that it's not about having an answer. It's not about perfection. It's not about always having the best moments or being different. It's about just being. It's about having someone besides you to hear and talk to. It's about being real. As cliche as it sounds.
This is what I came to, after all, as simples as it is - We don't need to be different, because as long as we recognize ouselves, we don't need to be recognized in a crowd full of people. And we don't need answers.
We simply live them.

sexta-feira, 5 de novembro de 2010

It's the same in any language.

And time stops.
Slow and fast, all the same.
You jump into it, as if it's one of those moments you try to live for. No reasons, no second thoughts, no why or how, you are just there, like you hoped you would, even thought you were never able to admit this out loud.
"Don't hold your breath" you hear. "I won't" you say, even knowing you already have.
There is an amount of words stuck inside you, like a friday night where you stayed home, when you should be anywhere else, anywhere but where you were right in that moment.
You were hurt for too long and, when you realised that, more than enough time had passed. There was no more room for anger. There was no more room for hurt. You were tired. You were so tired.
You had to hold your breath. You had to, or else, you wouldn't be able to do what you had to do. To say what you had to say. To look into his eyes and have everything done, no more left overs, no more dreams who would do what you didn't have the guts to, no more 'what ifs'. To be able to do at least one thing, from all the others you had to.

Goodbye, C.

I blamed you for two whole years. I blamed myself longer. I missed you, like I never though I could. I also disliked you, like I never though I could. I tried many times to hate you, with everything I had. I never did. But, at one point, just your name would make me mad. Hurt. You hurt me in a way I wasn't aware I could get hurt. You changed. And this part, I just though you should know. Another thing you should just know, is that you weren't just passion. But truth is that there is really just one more thing I wanted to say to you. Only one thing left to say that, I may admit, I probably ignored.
I should have tried harder, maybe, possibly. We were best friends and I gave up on you. I left you, even though there were many times where I tried to stay. One of those times, I just let go. I still left you. I wasn't there for you, and I was so hurt that I just couldn't keep trying. To me, there was no more risk to take. You deserved better. Maybe, you deserved more chances. Maybe, you deserved a better person to stick for you, with you. Maybe, I shouldn't have cut all contacted we had. Maybe, I should have beem more mature, maybe I shouldn't. There are a lot of maybes in my life, especially when it comes to you. But I stopped blaming myself, and I stopped blaming you. Even blaming became something much bigger than expected. But only time made me see all, and only time put me on my feet and own control again. Here it is, with all we lived together, moments, laughs, sadness, years and years side by side... I am sorry.
I am so sorry.
Goodbye, D.