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25 de março de 2015

a melancolia é a melhor mão que pode pegar na nossa caneta. Então se fizeres tristeza seu papel...

distúrbios sentimentais

Reflicto-me na dúvida: A certeza de não saber. Por vezes custa, outras dói, esse espaço que fica por preencher nos sorrisos. De tão pequeno, torna-se infinito, e nele não cabe nada mais que o mundo.

Dá-me a mão para que eu não a pegue, dá-me o toque para que eu não o devolva, dá-me o mundo que eu fico com ele.

Engulo um grito inteiro nos meus silêncios desenfreados, corro nua pela rua da saudade - já nem me arrepio com o frio da vontade. És demais para o mundo, e o mundo não te chega. Queres ter o luar no bolso, queres andar com o amanhecer ao peito e eu não sou suficiente. Como poderia competir com as estrelas? Apesar da clara vantagem da distância menor, se estás em fuga o estar perto nao me aproxima de ti. Nem de mim.

Se o fim está sempre à espreita, este já passou a esquina. Lá vai ele...

24 de março de 2015


O contrato já está em vigor:
Amigos sem compromissos, amantes a correr riscos.
É perigoso este jogo em que nos metemos, o que acontece quando perdermos?
Já te conheço. agrada-me. É esse o problema. Não devia ser feita de papel quando tu gostas de brincar com fósforos. Mas que posso fazer se o teu olhar me incendeia?
Esta brincadeira pode sair nos cara, mas não é assim que gostas de apostar?
Tudo ou nada, cartas na mesa, ases na manga.
O que tenho a perder é muito mais do que alguma vez poderias ganhar mas é assim que se mantém o dado a rolar.
Jackpot, saiste-me na rifa e é este o prêmio que tenho.
 Troféus à parte, quando fecho os olhos és tu quem desejo.
 Nunca fui batoteira, mas a ideia de te ter dá-me um incentivo extra.

Ps: Conhecer-te assusta me. Estranho jogo este o de gostar.

2 de março de 2015


As I walk my infinite path, the streets either get smaller or larger. They are being built on the way, as I am ever on the road. People pass, in and through me. I walk half of the time during the day, another half at night. The day, even bright, blinds my eyes. The night, even scary, allows me to see the stars. And every once in a while, I have a glimpse – it’s this fast and brief light that fascinates me and makes me stop my pace. This is a story about it - I will look back and think: remember the night where you saw that shooting star?
There was a sound in the background, the light soundtrack playing on live stream – it’s the nude feeling of breaking the routine. Hidden under dark shades, you have more than meets the eye.
Although you live through your words, you sound like someone that could hear the voice of my silences; someone to understand my chaos, and yet I’m dying to ask: who hurt you? Who changed you? Who made sadness rest in your eyes?
More than pre-fabricated talks, you’re not one of those that comes in a box - no price tag, just value.
I have come up with the solution that this world is not made to be your home - you have better places to be. But before leaving, shooting star, be the light that guides me.

26 de janeiro de 2015

''I feel very sad. There should be two of us standing here.'' Happy bday...

23 de setembro de 2014


If there’s one thing that makes me itchy to my brain is variety. Let me elaborate: How come that people are so so so dissimilar from each other?

If you think about the infinity of things that there are for you to do, for you to be, it’s exactly that: infinity. And you know what that means? It has no end. But you know what ends? Your life. Your days are counted, counted by some kind of mathematic formula we haven’t figured out yet/we are just yet to find the mathematic formula for our own calculus.
And that… that leaves me nights without seeing a sleep. Because I want to be it all. I want to be everything. I wanna dress black and be colorful. I wanna be mysterious but fun and out there and all over the place. I wanna be in around my fireplace and be wrecking it at parties all night long. What a walking paradox. I am the kind of girl that believes that I should ‘’save’’ myself for someone special, only to deliver my lips to someone who who’d be worth it, but I’m also the kind of girl that believes in instant connections and living in the moment and one night stands. And I don't believe in churches or God but today I found myself walking into a church and lighting a candle and I felt good doing it, I felt closer and in touch with my inner being.

There’s so much for you to be, there’s an infinity of things to be and a finite time for you to be them. And that scares the hell out of me. It makes me cry just to think about it. Here’s another: I have days I’m crying rivers with only the idea of death, thinking about all the people I leave behind (as if you are going forward) and how I will see them sad while I haunt their houses. But there’s another days where it doesn’t matter to me, that I believe that dying is just like sleeping, just that…you’re nowhere, you are…in fact, you’re not, you are not, you don’t feel, you don’t see, you don’t haunt, you don’t have a soul and everything in ‘’life’’ was just a random biological event.

I wanna have more time. I want more time to be everything. I wanna feel that I’ve been everything. You walk into a path and it’s full of intersections and you have to keep choosing between roads – left, right. What if you end up always choosing the wrong one? What if you choose the wrong one in the beginning and everything is ruined from the start? What if the whole thing is so completely random? What if everything is predestined? What if every step you take – being it right or left, up or down – leads you to the same ending because it’s all meant to be? This is tooooo much for me.

I also divide myself between being born into this world to make a difference (otherwise why would I be so anxious?) and change myself constantly for better, shout for what I believe, show to others – because it’s not enough to change myself, everyone should hear it.
But there’s another days where I want to be free from that – because being ‘’good’’ brings a lot of weight to your shoulders – I want to live it all even if it doesn’t sound like the right thing, and I want to experience all because I don’t have a lot of time, and, in the end, what does really separate good from evil? Who is there to judge?

And to think that there are people that never think of this… I am here, driving myself crazy on a Tuesday night, and there are people out there that never wonder. How? How do they live like sheep following the herd? But then again, who am I to criticize? Who am I to think they’re erroneous for not inquiring? Deep down I do think they should question the whole universe, but this is just my own beliefs. Who says I’m right?

I was never good with choices…even worst under pressure. And this whole life is a room with 4 walls that keep moving towards each other, and the space is getting smaller and smaller. It is an hourglass with way too less sand. I don’t have time to open all the doors, I don’t have enough life to walk all the roads, to make all the options. And what does that make of me? A piece in a random giant chess game. But, wait, the pieces in chess have someone to play them and I’m not sure if I believe in faith. Some days I do. But if there’s one thing I do know is that I am curious and restless. Yes, I’m 100% restless. No doubt. And I did not choose that, I just am. There was no door to choose from.

I can’t write as fast as my thoughts. I’m scared to be drifting, but it always smells like ‘’I want more’’. Whenever I get to the shore, I just throw myself back to the sea.

Tomorrow when I re-read this I will feel silly to be on paranoid mode. I think that if people could read minds I’d be alone by now. I’m here doubting all there is in me, I’m afraid that I’ve been locking all the wrong doors. But maybe that is just the way it is, just the way it has to be, and maybe, just maybe, we are never one thing or another. Maybe we are always a mix of things, even if those facts make us feel far away from ourselves. Maybe you have to have that doubt, that leeway, maybe all the doors are half open, half closed.
And maybe there are people that don’t question themselves. They are what they are and they have known it for their whole lives. I don’t think I envy them.

And there’s another thing: where does this all come from? The world, the people? Yes, Big Bang bla bla bla, but how? What was here before that? Before ‘’life’’? what did exist? Well, nothing, but does nothing exist? Isn’t ‘nothing’ something? Just a hand full of nothing. And how come that from nothing, came everything? And now we have cars and televisions and how did we do this? Maybe I’m just too trapped in my human brain because clouds do exist and stars too, and humans walk and animals have instinct, and none of this can be explained and maybe we don’t have to know everything (but we do question everything) and the more I live the more lost I get because when I was 3 years old I didn’t ask what the hell is a thought.

Have you noticed how spectacular everything is? Even the fact that you think is beautiful. Fuck, the fact that you live is beautiful. It’s people that fuck everything up later. We take the fun out of it. I will keep this. I will keep my 17 year-old anxieties. I will read them when I’m 50. I will remember how everything is so beautiful and I will cry with the thought of it. I will notice how everything must be some twisted sick game and I will want to live again. And I will do it over and over again until I run out of days. And we will see about what happens later. Maybe it’s game over and I’ll have no more lives to spend. And that’s all fine by me. C’est la vie. Or something else…

21 de julho de 2014

Time. hours. minutes. seconds. days. weeks. months. years. centuries... people. stop. stop with the numbers because they are just messing with your head. 

Memories are not based on time, are not measured by the day they happen. 
When you are older and you look back, you remember the day you met them. You remember the afternoon you spent singing. You remember to have danced all night long. You remember the people you were with and the feelings you got then. You remember looking at his lips and wondering how they would taste pressed against yours. You remember making campfires and singing around it. You remember how your favourite teacher sounded like. You recall the big fight you had with your mother. You remember that girl you kissed that made you feel you had fireworks inside your belly. Now tell me...does it matter if it was 30th of august or the 2nd of july?

Time is just a number. Age is just a number, as well. Prices, money - are just numbers. Can't you see it's an invention? Something made up, an ilusion created by real people, with real laughs, with real memories. Take your clock off. Let go of your phone when you're in good company.
Let go. These things they are made to help you, not to control you.

The only time I know is the time I had and the time I still have left.
If we can't tell - and we can't - when will we die, what is time?
What are these numbers we attribute ourselves? What does it matter if I'm 17 or 71, if I can die at any of these ages?

You should use hours as a tool, not as a god. You arrive on time at work, but the only thing you have to know is that the sun shines at daytime and the moon loves in the sky at night. And sometimes, if you look up the sky is still lighted on but you can already see a shy moon. Not even the sun and the moon follow the rules...

Don't let this control you, otherwise, the only thing you'll be late for, is your life.
You were my happy place