Hope.

I don't like showing fear. Doesn't matter what it is, doesn't matter what is involved. Or who is involved.
But there are moments. Moments of weakness, moments that you have to make yourself strong because there are people out there who need you to be strong. Who need you showing that you believe everything will turn out fine even if you are just like him. Even if you are just as scared.
I honestly don't know what makes me strong, or even if I'm strong. The only thing I know is that, when is necessary I show people a confidence I don't really have. I say everything will turn out fine, and I say I am sure that it's gonna be okay, and all I hope is that in the end, this promisse can actually be real. For them; For me.
I can tell you that I saw the whole movie going around my head all over again. I saw the traveling, and I saw the hospital. I saw the way my father hugged me, just like he did when he got home today. I saw the talk, and I heard the way they had to bring her back to life, almost as if for a minute, I had actually lost her. I heard the real story, and I saw that goodbye in my head all over again.
You wanna know the truth? The truth is, whatever happens I will deal with it, just like I did the other times. But the truth, the real truth is that what really scares me, what really makes me fear for the worse is knowing that I could have said more in that call. I could have told her what an incredible person she actually is, and how I hope that someday, I will be able to be at least half of what she is. I fear for our last conversation being me saying that everything will turn out fine and that is it. Sending her kisses and my prayers.
Because right now, all I can think about is her laugh. Or the way she talks, or the way she would be able to teach me something everyday, doesn't matter if she freaking finished her studies or not. The way she would try to teach me how to cook, just to see how I am horrible unless it comes to her pizzas. The way she would tell me stories from her childhood, or how her father came to Brasil.
To tell you the truth, another one as you can see, I hate show people how I am feeling, the way I am doing now. I hate the feeling of how weak I am and how I am being dramatic. But for her, I will show it again, and again. Because she deserves it. She deserves me hoping to see her one last time, and hoping to talk to her one last time. She deserves the way I will be sitting in that damn hospital for as long as I have to, until I need to leave because I am too smeally. Until I can see her. Even if it is just from a window.
I know it's too much hopes that I am asking for. But I don't care, because I will have hope until I can't anymore. Because she deserves us hoping for her. She deserves me hoping for her.
Because, once you see fear where you never expected; Once you see fear, in your father's eyes, all you can do is hope.
And that is what I will keep doing. Hoping.

Curtain's finally closing.

So...Hi.
Time really goes by, hã? Still feels like yesterday to me, something that I can barelly count in my fingers.
I don't know how to use the words. Or letters. Or anything for that matter. And I am deeply sorry if this will make no sense to you, or if at the end you won't actually understand anything I just said. Or why I just said it.
And to tell you the truth, I don't really know why I am doing this after so long. I just feel like I should, cause...well, if I knew the reason for that, I would let you know.
I can't really believe its been so long. I can't look at that old picture of us anymore, cause everytime I do, I feel like sitting in my bed, and keep holding it for as long as I can. Until my hands start hurting. Like something that should have stayed, and that I lost it. That we lost it.
I wish things wouldn't have happened the way they did. I wish the last time we talked, wouldn't have been that way, and that it wouldn't have been the last. I actually wish a lot of things.
I wish time wouldn't have runned the way it did, I wish some things wouldn't have happened. I wish that you were by my side when those things happened.
I wish I hadn't become so broken.
I can’t believe I don’t know how to start this. Or where to go with this. I can’t believe I have this one more wish, and that I have to go against it one more time. One last time. I can’t believe I have to say Goodbye to you. It’s ironic, isn’t it? How things work, how life work. How one moment you can’t stop laughing and in the blink of an eye, you lose track of who you are, or what you have to do. Of who you once were. Who you once wanted to be.
You told me once that Goodbyes don’t actually exist. Cause with goodbye, you let go and you go away. And after that, you simply forget. And nothing should be forgotten. And even though you kind of stole some, big, parts of this from Peter Pan, you changed it and made it your way. You made it your way, because it’s the way you would look at things. The way you would make my day better, when just minutes before everything sucked. The way it made me look for you every time I needed someone.
The thing is, sometimes it doesn’t work the way we want to. And sometimes, when it doesn’t work that way, we just have to go with what we have, and accept it. Say that, okay, I will go with that and in the end, even if it hurts, everything will turn out fine. Or at least we make ourselves believe in that, because it will keep hurting and it won’t go away just because you hope for an end. So, yeah, sometimes, even if we don’t want to, we have to say goodbye.
You need to know, that this is not easy for me, even if I am just writing it down. You need to know I tried my best at not having to say a goodbye. You need to know how much I wanted to end this letter with a ‘See you later’. You need to know why I am doing this. And all I can hope is that at some point, you will also understand.
I was cleaning my closet. I know, cleaning that dangerous thing? What does that have to do with anything? I found your letter. Yes, I kept because even thought it was you saying what I didn’t want to think about, it had you all over it. And that was enough for me to kept it, and every once in a while, read it again. The point is, I hadn’t read it in some time. Okay, actually a very long time. I guess what I am trying to say is that, you know when it comes to a point that something flashes into you suddenly and you feel like so much time has passed and you only came to realize that now? That you let so many things leave without even noticing and that you could have grabbed it with all the force you had and made something of it? Something good. I felt that when I read your letter again. When I read your letter one last time. Because after I sat in my bed, after I read it again, when I finished the last line, I felt something inside of me. Like It was okay again. Like I could go on, and it wouldn’t matter. That it was time to give myself something I lost a long time ago. Another chance. And you know, that it won’t happen until I say goodbye to you. You meant too much, was too much, made too much for me. It’s amazing to think that even after so many years, just reading your goodbye letter you helped me again. Made me realize who I am, what I lost, and what I will keep losing until I give another shot. Another try.
You just can’t help me forever. I have to walk with my own feet, because you are not here anymore, and it’s been this way for a very long time already. I have to prove something, I have to make sure I am capable to keep going, even if it means without you. Even if it means without you, at all.
So here I am. Saying goodbye to yesterday, to that day in the park with you, to the way you would look at me and make me smile, to the hopes of a tomorrow, to you.
There is a moment that we have to let go. I am letting go.

ps: Time is gone, and even if it means a final goodbye, I love you.

Sometimes we wish It wouldn't be a dream.

Eu só vi borrado. Tudo numa mistura de cores, que deixavam dificil identificar o local em que estava. E demorou um certo tempo para conseguir entender quem estava do meu lado, olhando para mim.
Aos poucos, as linhas foram se formando. E as cores se transformaram num parque. Eu quase ri, vendo como aquilo era ironico.
Não fazia 1 ano que eu havia estado nesse parque, e as lembranças eram de um sonho antigo, e de um desejo que, provavelmente, nunca aconteceria. E que nunca acontecerá.
Me surpreendi menos ainda, quando te vi, esperando que algo acontecesse, e esperando pelo momento certo para fazer o que o tinha feito vir até onde estava agora.
Eu olhei para o parque e respirei fundo. A última coisa que eu queria, era olhar nos seus olhos. E a última coisa que eu queria, era um reencontro.
Então a única coisa que fiz, foi segurar aquela sensação que tinha na garganta, de peso. Das coisas que foram deixadas de lado, e de que não foram faladas. E quando voltei meu olhar para você, esperando que tivesse sumido mais uma vez, você ainda estava no mesmo lugar, me olhando.
Eu não sei dizer o que aconteceu, nem como, mais tudo o que eu sei é que de repente, apareceu um garotinho de 13 anos na minha frente. Sem o boné roxo, mais sem dúvida, você de três anos atrás. Me olhou com aquele olhar que costumava me mandar quando alguma coisa incomodava. Eu só ouvi duas palavras.
- Me desculpe.
E então eu acordei.

Era só mais uma. Das milhares que haviam sido aquele ano.
O olhar passou por você, e falou horas naquele segundo. E no jeito que ele te olhou, talvez você também tenha dito muito sem precisar dizer uma coisa sequer.
Você fingia ouvir as palavras repetidas que não paravam. Parecia ter se tornado somente aquilo, palavras e palavras que traziam aquele lacremejar nos seus olhos, mas que faziam questão de se esconder.
Para no final poder dizer tudo bem, como sempre. E ser capaz de fingir.
Para quando olhasse nas lágrimas de quem estava do seu lado, mostrar que não doia, e que, não, aquilo não te deixava passando mal. Nunca.
Você olhou a mesa ao lado e viu risada. Viu conversa. Viu anos de histórias sendo recontadas como se fossem um pedaço de pano delicado, e que não podia ser perdido, que não podia se rasgar, de jeito algum. Você viu o brilho, e você assistiu a brincadeira.
Você assistiu ele a vendo e rindo quando chupou o macarrão como se o mundo fosse acabar amanhã, e como ele ria quando repetia.
Você viu o jeito que a mão dele segurava a sua. E como parecia carregar o mundo, e apesar de tudo, ainda ter espaço para carrega-la. Você viu como elas eram grandes perto das suas, e como, nas noites de medo, foi o que te fez se sentir segura de novo.
Você viu conforto.
'Você entende?' E você voltou, tão rápido quanto havia ido. Aquela sensação de precisar ir ao banheiro voltou e o tempo passou a repetir os passos, como fazia alguns minutos atrás. Você fez o melhor que pode ao tentar esconder as lágrimas por de trás de sua voz, esperando que não a traisse e que continuasse constante, sem se quebrar.
'É...entendo.' aquela não era sua mesa. Não mais.

Broken Heart.

There was no breath left. After run for what felt like hours, to nowhere, she couldn't catch her breath again. It seemed like all the pain, all the tears, were lost in that breath. And as she tried, everything started moving in slow motion. Like it was all getting lost again.
There was no place to look at. There was no tomorrow to look at. There was only ahead, only wherever her feets were taking her. Letting her eyes focus only where she wanted to. Just this time.
She felt her knees giving out, and what felt like a lost breath after run down the streets, became a lost breath after run away from the tears, the screams. From the sick feeling in her stomach that wouldn't leave. That just wouldn't go away.
It felt easier to listen to the music on repeat, and to let go. Let go of the eyes, let go of the fights, let go of the love.
To let the unreal be felt. Cause it did. It felt unreal to look at herself and not see who she was once. To look at herself feeling weird to know that one day, she actually believed in what today felt so...unbelieveable. To look at herself, and fear what she would see in ten years.
All she could do, was keep running. Trying to get her breath back. Looking at the rain drops that would fall over and over at her face, and wait for the air she needed back.
All she could do was let go for just one tinny moment. Let her heart try to remend itself, and expect people to understand along the way that she had her own reasons. That maybe, one day, she would be able to look at herself and have reasons to believe in that small word again. To have her own time. To forget what screwed her. To forget who screwed that for her. And why it happened. Just this one time.
Because there was no waking up anymore.
There was no dream.
All she wanted for that moment, was her breath back.

“I just need to know love works. I just need to know that, in thirty years, our daughter won’t be running to a boy’s house in a random evening because we are screaming at each other in the kitchen. I just need to know that love exists.”

Ele estava te encarando, do mesmo jeito que aquele outro garoto costumava te encarar 2 anos atrás.
Quando você percebeu, seu coração batia mais rápido e você se percebia falando sozinha 'Para com isso. Está parecendo uma adolescente'. Logo depois começava de novo 'Você é uma adolescente.'
Os olhos dele lembravam olhos de 2 anos atrás, e por mais que você não quisesse se lembrar daquilo, naquele momento, se tornou, de alguma forma inevitável.
Ele lhe jogou um sorriso e você sentiu suas mãos começarem a suar. Como 2 anos atrás.
Era como assistir a história começar de novo. E passar repetitivamente diante de seus olhos. De novo, e de novo.
Quando ele disse 'Oi', você se lembrou da ultima coisa que aquele garoto de 2 anos atrás havia lhe feito, e que havia doído. Em você, e mais ninguém. Talvez se houvesse ignorado o Oi dele, e ido com as crianças para a roda, o que aconteceu não teria acontecido. E não haveria mágoa para passar. Não haveria controle para perder.
Aquele começo podia ter terminado ali mesmo. Então, esse também poderia.
'Oi' respondeu, mas enquanto a palavra saia de sua boca, o que realmente pensava era 'Não se apaixone, não se apaixone.'

Estava frio.
A chuva insistia em atravessar aquela telha, e vez ou outra, chover em você.
Estava ventando e de alguma forma, isso virou motivo de risada. Como sempre é quando vocês estão juntos.
Alguns elogiavam os músicos que tocavam no restaurante, outros riam da piada que sua prima mais velha contou. E nesse meio tempo, seu 'meio-primo' desapareceu.
Alguns ainda insistiam em falar de novo e de novo "Parabéns Vó!" e nos intervalos sua avó devolvia aquele riso solto e dizia alguma coisa que fazia todos na mesa rirem.
Mais tarde, quando seu 'meio-primo' voltou, fez questão de fazer graça da sujeira que sua prima havia feita para almoçar, e ela devolvia com o sarcástico 'O que eu não faria sem você, Lui'.
De repente, aquele canção conhecida começou a tocar e os músicos disseram que havia sido um pedido de uma família ao fundo. Seu primo tinha um sorriso de disfarce no rosto, e mais tarde disse que os filhos daquela avó, haviam pedido para que ele pedisse pela canção. Verdade ou não, só o que ouviamos naquele momento era aquele música que seu Avô amava e que parecia falar sua avó.
Quando chegou no refrão, a família se juntou e começou a cantar olhando para aquela espanhola risonha, que tinha um sorriso indecifrável no rosto. Talvez de que acabou valendo a pena, talvez de emoção. Talvez de ambos.
O momento em que acabou, seu priminho disse "Vocês não ligam de passar vergonha?"
A resposta foi uma risada que parecia murmurar 'Não por quem vale a pena.'

"Te amo, espanhola
Te amo espanhola, para que chorar?
Te amo."

'Não esqueça esse momento, não esqueça esse momento.'