Do verbo ir

          As gotas caíam aos poucos no asfalto esburacado. Asfalto velho e precisando de reparos. Coração novo e precisando de amor. Mãos vazias precisando de encaixe. E a chuva mascarava sua dor. A velocidade da cidade não vencia seu tambor. Os vultos não viam seus lamentos. Um capuz para não molhar o que já estava encharcado. A ironia do fato também se aplicava à sua vida. Pequenos detalhes, pequenas pessoas, pequenos problemas, grandes desavenças. Enorme ausência.
          Adjetivos de isolamento poderiam cair ao seu redor como a água das nuvens. A quarentena de relações havia sido voluntária. Seria contagioso seu desmantelo? O pavor de infectar uma população a retirou de sociedade. As pernas tremendo menos pelo frio e mais pelo medo. A dor pesando mais que seu peso. O músculo mais forte no peito sustentando todo o corpo. A bolsa roxa implicando cansaço. O cabelo desgrenhado acusando falta de amor próprio. Ou seria apenas falta de amor? A propriedade de si continuava ali. As leis pessoais ainda se aplicavam. E por que o esquecimento do reconhecimento? O espelho já não mais revelava o que o passado lembrava. As poças d'água com imagens distorcidas eram mais fiéis a realidade interior.
          Uma aparência que pouco lhe importava, apenas alertava. Chegou ao ponto final da linha. Chegou numa bifurcação sem saída. Bateu de cara com tijolos. Sentiu mal estar e bem-te-vis. Cada passo, um receio. Cada segundo um depois. Foi em frente como se estivesse sempre atrás. Seguiu fraca e devagar, mas sempre foi. Foi na onda, fora dela, dentro dela, embaixo dela. Foi de corpo nas pedras e morreu na areia. Reergueu no ar, e como um sopro, foi de novo. O esgotamento pessoal sempre deu sinais. Porém, nunca atingiu um limite.
          Limpou a máscara, aplicou um sorriso e "bom dia" nesse escuro. Foi no fluxo, imperceptível. Enganou o mundo como enganava a si. E assim, foi. Foi e irá como sempre desejar.

In your own time

          I could see from across the room that she wasn't really paying attention to the screen. That made me wonder: what is she thinking of? Her eyes looked lost and sad, but not quite. It was like she was enjoying once again some kind of feeling, and at the same time she missed it. She didn't miss it hard enough to drop a few tears, but to make her eyes cry without any drop. What can hurt someone so much at the point of making them sad without even crying? I came to the conclusion that maybe the strength that comes together with the pain is able to block some reactions. Just because someone is strong doesn't mean that they don't suffer. The suffering comes in different colors and faces.
          My mind made me wonder of something else: did she run or did she face it? Something tells me she had the guts to face it. On the other hand, the running away surely explains the nostalgia. When you run away, you always keep asking yourself "what if...?". I guess running away is the trickiest choices of all. It makes you believe you are doing the right thing, until you are far enough to not go back. Coward is not a nice nickname. I guess no one wants to be known like that. Be selfish, be cocky, be dumb, but don't be a coward. Worst of all, don't be a fake corageous one. Don't pretend you have the guts to face haven and hell, if you can't even consider the existance of both.
          Unfortunatly, I couldn't put in words the thoughts in her head. Better yet, fortunatly, the complexity of her thoughts were deep enough to get me cofused. Fortunatly,  her eyes were smarter than most people I know. Fortunatly, her intelligence could go beyond school grades. Fortunatly, her emotions were hidden too well for me to unveil them. That girl trapped the strongest feelings so well that they couldn't find a way out of her maze. Her dry eyes and the twisted lips were telling more than it should, but not in a way a could ever explain. I could sense her loneliness. It wasn't like she was searching for company though.

Fonte: weheartit + edições próprias

          In a weird way, I was being pulled into the mistery that was hovering around her. I caught myself staring at her for more than 10 minutes. The 10 minutes I could easily multiply by millions. There was something pleasent in the way her eyes didn't catch anything in the air. Her lost thoughts found me. I couldn't deny the attraction to myself. But the worst part of all: she didn't even notice me. The absence of her inside her body made me think that she was in that point of life that no one is allowed inside. Her drama was her own to solve. There is time in everyone's life that bringing an outsider to your mess only makes it worse. It doesn't matter how hard they try to help, it is never enough. Maybe it is just fear. Maybe we are just afraid someone is going to show us that our drama is nothing compared to all the sadness in the world. Which is not fair to our own feelings. Sometimes we don't need anyone to show us the way, we just want to sit down by the path and cry a bit the mistakes and the sorrows we've seen and done before.
          She was definitely too wrapped up in her own stuff to notice my interest, or even accept my friendly hand. I couldn't see it through, but I decided to respect her time. I let that moment pass through my fingers so she could decide what to do with her own. I couldn't point the direction to someone who didn't want to see. I let her live her life in her own time, while I used mine to catch hers.