Nothing would go right. She would write and delete, write and delete. God, she hated when no idea would actually come up. She was at Starbucks for hours, it was her third coffe already and all she was able to write was two lines. Two, really stupid and nonsense, lines. She had even made a pact with herself - only drink a tip of her coffe when she wrote more. So, right now, besides all, she was really thirsty too.
Maybe it just wasn't her day.
- Hi.
Correction, it, definitly, wasn't her day.
One year had gone by since the last time she had actually heard that voice. One year since that night in which everything ended so badly. One year since she had cried like she didn't even know she could. One year since she had last seen those blue eyes, and one year since she had forgotten how those eyes could make her feel.
- Hey.
He looked good. He looked happy. He looked everything she hoped for a year he wouldn't when they met again. It was weird, actually. For a whole year she imagined what would be like to see him again. To talk to him again. Would she say something stupid? Would she feel strange? Would those eyes of him make her melt again?
- How have you been?
Yes, definitly would make her melt again.
What had happened to them? Why were they having this polite conversation? She wanted him to call her brunette like he always did. She wanted to call him weird like she did everytime he would insist on eating something disgusting.
- I've been good...you?
It was ironic. The place where they had met in first place, being the same place they would first meet after everything was done and said. After everything was over.
- I...I've been good too. I actually remembered you last week, I passed by that place which you would always talk about their lemon ice cream? Decided to finally give it a shot.
What was she supposed to do? Go on with this...thing they were pretending to be a conversation? To say goodbye one more time? To see him leaving again?
- Liked?
- I...I loved it.
- I am glad you did.
So, this was the moment where both would stop talking, that weird silence would stay and he, once again, would leave? She really shouldn't have left her house in the first place that morning.
- I am sorry.
And suddenlly, it all stopped. As she looked at him, she saw something - he was broken too. Broken just like she was.
- I am not.
And as she half smiled at him, and their eyes locked and he sent her the smile he knew was her favorite, something felt right again. And it felt right again when he sat down with her.
And maybe, just maybe, they would stop hurting, after all.
Together.

I never told you.

L.,

Eu sou o cara ruim. O cara que deixou aquela garota passar; o cara que não apreciou da forma que deveria aquilo e aquela que tinha ao seu lado; o cara que nunca achará alguém que o amará da forma que ela o amou - da forma que você me amou. É assim que as pessoas me veem, não é? É assim que me descrevem. Toda droga de tempo possível. E então, um ano depois, eu pensei que talvez fosse a hora de fazer o que deveria ter feito logo no dia seguinte em que você foi embora; explicar.
Eu te amei. Amei mais do que pensei que pudesse amar uma mulher, amei e tive a sensação de que aquilo estaria comigo para sempre e, honestamente? Estava certo. Eu te amo e vou amar até não saber mais como colocar em palavras ou pensamentos, mas, querida, você mais do que ninguém deveria saber que, nem sempre, amor é suficiente. E, algumas vezes, o passo mais dolorido, é ser o primeiro a ir em direção à porta. Você não faz ideia do quão dificil foi fazer o que fiz, o quão dificil foi não te beijar uma última vez ou voltar assim que disse todas as coisas que disse. O quão dificil foi não dizer o quanto te amava e como tudo o que fazia, era por você.
Eu sei o que está pensando agora - típica desculpa de um egoísta - e, acredite, não lhe julgo. Mas, porque o cara é sempre o vilão? E se ele, realmente, fez algo pensando em você? E se ele abdicou de sua própria vontade porque, por um momento que seja, ele se colocou em seu lugar? Porque um término sugere que, se partiu do homem, ele fez a pior besteira que poderia e, quando parte da mulher, é porque o homem desistiu da relação e, depois de tanto tempo segurando aquele relacionamento, ela simplesmente desistiu também? Eu sei - a maioria dos casos são assim.
Não o nosso.
Nós precisamos saber quando agir pelo coração e pela razão, amor, você sabe disso. Você sabe que não existe um momento em que ambos os termos, andam lado a lado. Que, algumas vezes, amor não é suficiente para segurar uma relação. Que, outras vezes, a hora simplesmente não é certa. Que é preciso saber quando dizer adeus. Sim, adeus. Por você. Por aquele que ama, por aqueles que te amam. Eu te amei a ponto de lhe dizer adeus, porque era o melhor, mesmo que nunca pareça fazer sentido. As vezes, essa é a prova do amor de alguém por outro. No caso, do meu amor por você.
Você precisa entender que nem sempre as coisas lhe farão sentido e que carregá-las consigo não te coloca em nenhuma explicação mais sensata, na verdade, só te prende e te deixa carregando algo que não precisa.
Saber quando ir embora não é só querer dizer que está apta a esquecer. É seguir da forma mais dolorida por ser o melhor para outro.
Eu te amo, eu sinto sua falta e vou continuar sentindo. E eu estando aqui e você ai, é minha forma de provar o quanto.

Eu sinto muito não ter sido suficiente para ficar,

O cara que partiu seu coração.

When you have to let it out.

You were tired. More than anything that day, you were tired.
It was hard explaining what you really had, when not even you knew. You felt messy. Maybe that would be the word you were looking for - messy. Or, maybe, complicated, mad, frustrated, none seemed enough.
You couldn't put words in order. You couldn't say what you were actually thinking and you didn't know how to put that in paper. It felt like anything you read was talking to you, your thoughts and you were mad, all the freaking time. And, suddenly, you found yourself lost. Just lost.
Getting lost, you realised, was much easier than staying in the same place, no matter how familiar and known that place was. You also realised that, once you got lost, that feeling would not leave, it would have strong moments and weak moments; moments you didn't realise it was there and moments that it was all you realised. It left you tired; angry; frustrated. More than anything, it left you angry. And that itself would be by your side every day, choosing all the wrong moments it could to make you let it out. It made you want to say things you knew you shouldn't and couldn't, without caring about consequences or anything, for the matter.
But you couldn't say anything. All you could do was let the feeling inside of you stay, because, for a while, there was nothing you can do.
When someone finally looked at you, hugged you and told you that, even if things were going to be alright, even though it would all pass, even if you knew that yourself, there was nothing wrong to let that out, you looked at him with eyes of someone who needed to be told to stop and go back; you looked at him with eyes of gratitude. You looked at him with eyes full of tears.
And you let go.
And how much you cried.

Easier to say in another language.

There is something you should probably know about you. Whenever you smile, so do your eyes. Every time, with no fail. You talk a lot when face to face, which kind of gives away the fact that, so do you, hate awkward silences and, sometimes, when I am talking, you will look at me as if you aren't listening anything I am saying, what ends up being true, when you keep looking at me and a minute later ask "I am sorry, what?" which can be funny, but also make me think I said something stupid and nonsense. You have this way when looking at someone that makes me want you to keep looking and, now and then, it ends up with a dance and shy smile. It actually amazes me, how you don't care what other people think or how, maybe, you are just very good at pretending you don't care. And you are nice, simply nice, with everyone at any time.
So, now, here is something about me - Fifteen days ago, I went crazy with my own thoughts. With those thoughts about you that I just described. I found myself thinking I could, possibly, be in love. With you. The guy all girls want and scream for. The guy who, definitly soon, will leave, because he will get to live incredible things, since he is working so hard for that. For that reason, fifteen days ago, I found myself in complete fright. How could I have done that, again? Why would I always put myself into that? When would I get to actually learn, and stop falling for the bad boy? I got mad at myself. I got mad at myself when I felt upset that you wouldn't come talk to me, like always. I got mad at myself for wanting another message from you, telling me, you wanted us to go out. I got mad at myself, because I didn't control my feelings for you, like I should have, like I warned myself, seven months ago, when we actually started talking. Because I knew that, at some point, I wouldn't know how to difference things anymore and even so, I kept myself talking to you. And then, all I could think was how it took me two years to forget the other guy, and how hard it was, how I didn't want that, and how I was tired of being that girl, the one who has to forget. So, I did what I do best - I pushed you away and everything that would remind me of you. My phone was in a place I couldn't find and, whenever you were online, I would log off. I couldn't be the one waiting anymore. And I couldn't be the one reading your tweets, seeing that, probably, you were into another girl, or flirting with all the girls you are always flirting with. So, I forced myself to let go, while I still could. Before you got to be able to make my hands sweat and shake, and my heart to beat in a way I always thought it was freaky. I forced reason on myself, because I could not...I can not be the girl with the broken heart anymore.
Even so, here is what you should know - You are worth it. The hope and the fear, and even the pain, because you are actually incredible and to be in love with someone like you, would make much more sense than to be in love with who I once was. But, I can't no longer be the girl who waits. I simply can't. I can't be the girl hoping you will notice her, or hoping you will call only me and no one else. I can't be the girl waiting for a text message, or thinking there might be a chance. Because I know that you will find someone soon enough. Because I know that, maybe, you already have. Because I want to mean when I say I am happy for you. Because I don't want being happy for you to be hard and painful, like it happened once with that guy. Because we learn when to let go and I learned that already. Because I am no longer fifteen years old, and I don't think everything is supposed to fall into place. I know that. Because, once I hear a song and think of you, things will be screwed. For me. Because I have come to terms to when I should use my reason and when use my heart. Because I know this is not ideal, but things are never ideal. Because being surrounded by people who have the feeling you looked for, back, when yours never is, is tiring. Because all of us, people, we are messy. And life is always making it more messy for us without us even asking for it. Because life happens.
Fifteen days later, I found myself not in love with you. I don't know if I were, but I know that, at some point, I would be. And I couldn't let that happen. At least, not now. So, I did the other thing I do best - I fought against it. What I think is funny about that, is the fact that my head almost got me crazy. Silence can drive us crazy, because it can be unbelievably loud. And, sometimes, only you can hear it. And its usually worse when you can't actually say what you are thinking, because you don't want to admit you are thinking what you are thinking.
I don't have time to be the broken girl right now. And, even though grandma always says that, at some point, it has to be right, I know that, for now, it's not. And I can't let this disappointment to grow into something bigger; something deeper. It has to end here.
I am no longer five, watching my parents's wedding tape. And I won't start acting like I am.
I really hope you won't ever think you are not worth it. You are.
You are worth it.
But silence messes me up. It just messes me up and, for that, I have to try the safe path. I can't be the one who needs to forget, anymore. I don't want to.


" I've never heard silence quite this loud".

Your song.

When I was fourteen, I wrote a love song for you. And, thinking now, ironically, every time you did something that made me happy or sad, I would sing it, at least once. Probably on the shower.
There is not really a reason for me to be telling you this. Truth to be told, the fact is, as time goes by, I see another thing I would do constantly because of you and that I would have never noticed before, and that is the only memorie I have of being in love.
I was actually hurt most of the time I had feelings for you, but the real reason for that is now gone, since the only thing that stayed with me was the fact that, at one point, I truly loved you. Loved you the way I couldn't confess when my sister asked if I had really gone that far with my feelings for you. Loved you the way I would feel happy with you just being near. Loved you like a girl would hope to love a boy.
As Summer would say, life happens and like M. would tell me, people lose themselves. All people. Always. And it's true, no matter what others want to prove you, it just happens. Even so, as I was looking for a necklace the other day, I found a bunch of old papers, all together. There, in the middle of it all, was your song. And in that moment, reading it all over again, laughing at some points and remembering, I realised that, no matter where life takes us, no matter how much life actually happens, every once in a while, we catch ourselves finding something, or hearing a music, or feeling a smell that bring us back something we tought we would never again remember or taste. Its inside of you, its part of you and what you were, and what you can go back to be if you have to.
Your song keeps the past you alive. Keeps all of you alive, even the things I didn't like. Your song remembers me that I can be in love and the things I am able to feel. Your song made me realise that love is not something you rush and it will most likely never make sense. Your song reminds me of what it is to be fifteen and to be in love. Your song keeps what you meant alive inside of me, even if only as a memorie.
Your song was a call to see that, even if we lose ourselves, not everything stays behind.

" Cause every beat is a memorie I should forget..."

Ironic, isn't it?

One last word.

Você,

Eu achei que eu havia dito tudo o que precisava, tudo o que devia. Mas, é claro, isso não é verdade. E, com toda a certeza, quando eu escrever esta última linha, eu vou sentir que ainda há muito faltando, certas coisas não mudam.
Você foi cansativo, você foi alegre, cheio de risadas e momentos. Cheio de lágrimas. Você foi esperado por 17 anos e, estes últimos quatro anos, parecem ter feito a espera ainda maior, mais temida. Mas, de qualquer forma, ela chegou. E ela está a 3 dias de terminar.
Eu quero dizer que, como todos os anos, você veio de surpresas. Eu descobri que certos assuntos nunca morrem. Que um acontecimento do passado, pode voltar e te atormentar, sem qualquer razão, com só um telefonema. Que, algumas vezes, as razões se criam por mais que você procure ignora-las e não permiti-las. Que, após um simples oi, você percebe que os últimos 3 anos, não precisavam ter sido como foram quanto a ele. Que existem certas situações que não são suas e que não existe nada mais a fazer, se não segurar a mão de alguém por todo o caminho. E que, algumas vezes, por mais que não lhe seja suficiente, é suficiente para ela. Que, em algum momento, você acaba falando com o tal cara que foi o assunto de uma festa. Eu relembrei que nós nos decepcionamos, sim, com qualquer um. Que se decepcionar, não significa mudar uma história ou a si mesma. Que, não importa o quanto você tema um ano, ele chega, ele passa e você segue em frente.
Que, dizer Adeus, é inevitável e que com ele, coisas irão se perder. Mas que, dizer adeus, não significa necessariamente ir embora. Enquanto houver alguém que lembre, haverá o que existir. E que, algumas vezes, isso precisa ser suficiente.
Eu te adorei, eu te odiei, eu jurei vingança eterna a matemática, eu prometi não esquecer e eu também prometi ir adiante com o próximo ano da melhor maneira possivel, não importando os acontecimentos. Eu ri, eu briguei, eu dancei, eu olhei minha escola pela última vez e enquanto minha mãe saia com o carro e "Never grow up" de Taylor Swift tocava, nove anos vieram a minha cabeça e eu chorei um choro de despedida. Foi um ano de mudanças, um ano de aprendizado, um ano para crescer e para voltar a ser criança.
A minhas amigas e meus amigos, eu só tenho uma coisa a dizer - Obrigada. Meu colegial não vai ser lembrado pelas matérias, mas pelos intervalos, pelas risadas, pelas trocas de bilhete, pelo que vocês fizeram deles.
E, não importa onde a vida nos leve, não importa o quanto doa dizer que acabou, vocês nunca serão fim para mim.
E, 2010, vamos ver o que você tem para mim em 2011.
I will definitly see you again,
and bring it on,

C.

"Forgetfull".

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.