Nada sobrou...

Tempo, dedicação, amor, segurança, apoio, incentivo, confiança, respeito, conhecimento, ajuda, saudade, compromisso, sorrisos, lágrimas, admiração, ternura, afeto.

Minha família, meus amigos, casa, abrigo, dinheiro, viagens, comida, expectativas, perspectiva, meu futuro, seu futuro, paixão, cama, quarto, sala, meu coração.

Um 'eu te amo' de supetão, paciência, espera, esperança, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza, certeza.

Eu sei que você prefere pensar que guardou o melhor de mim e que isso é amor. Mas isso não é amor. Isso é roubar de mim o que você nunca me deu.

Sonhos, projetos, obsessão, certeza, certeza, certeza.

Respeito.

Sinceridade.

Então você prefere pensar que guardou o melhor de mim e que isso é amor.

Pensamentos que não cessam. Seus estudos. Minha universidade. Vontades. Desejos.

Você roubou de mim o que nunca me deu.

Horas, dias, semanas, meses, anos. Minutos que não querem passar. Meu tempo... Todo meu tempo.

Livros, um dragão, um 'eu te amo' de supetão.

Eu sei que você prefere pensar que guardou o melhor de mim e que isso é amor. Mas isso não é amor. Isso é roubar de mim o que você nunca me deu.

E agora sinto que roubou tudo que tinha... e nada sobrou.

E agora sinto que dei tudo que tinha... e nada sobrou.

Why then

Next July I turn 29. It has been quite some time now since I stopped caring about how fast time is going by or how old I'd soon become. I cannot say that some things have not changed, though. I remember that when I was 17, I'd think love is something stale, or at least still. It is not. Not only would love transform itself throughout my days, but also I'd chance the way I see loves I had.
It's funny... you can't know how love feels when you are living it. Or... all loves may just seem the same. They are not the same. But it's only with time that you begin to realise how very peculiar each one of the people you said 'I love you' to is. That too I'd already figured out. A few days ago, however, I began to think of something new. I started to notice how I can only see love at very rare times.
When Daniel broke up with me, he wrote me a letter in which he said he'd never really loved me. I was so furious. I knew it was not true. I told he had no right to tell me so and mentioned one or two times when I was sure he loved me. One of them was when we first started going out, it was a Sunday evening and I told him it was somewhat late for us to see each other that day. But he insisted on seeing me. So he took bus and after over an hour we met. We stayed together for maybe twenty or thirty minutes and I was really surprised he felt such an urge for meeting me for so short a time. I told him that made me feel really special and that I was glad he came. That day I felt really loved. We were together for almost year, and there weren't many times like that. Not that it was his fault, or that we were any different from most couples. Love is actually like this. It doesn't show itself often, even when it's there.
Maybe it was because of this that I felt years later the desperate need to show my love. That was what I did with Filipe. All the time we were together, everyday, I'd show him how much I loved. Him... but also love as a single word. I loved... and I wanted him to notice that. Probably I wasn't aware of what I was doing. I couldn't really. I gave him everything I had; love was just a part of it.
I am falling apart now because I came to think it was only me. It was all me. I keep thinking and trying to remember when I saw love in his eyes. When was the time that he touched me and I believed he didn't want to be anywhere else? I can't. I am trying really hard, and I can't. There was none. It was always me; everything we had was me. Why then? Why did I love him all the time? Why didn't he do anything if I am sure he was sure I was all his?

Sometimes I can't quite believe I'm still standing
for I bear all the reasons not to carry on
yet ceasing seems so silly and so very right
and I am amazed at this great strength
at this wierd and exhausting strength
to which I insist on hanging on

That, my friend

From now on
there are a few things
I want you to remember.

Just some quick notes
to guide you into this life
you have chosen.

From now on,
whenever you wake up
and you fell a nagging ache
you can't really tell
where it's throbbing.

Well, that, my friend,
is called thinking only
about yourself.

And then when one very day
you realise no one actually cares about you
and you've been alone
for more than you'd like
and everybody around you
is not really on your side.

Well, that, my friend,
is called thinking only
about yourself.

And finally
if one day you are sorry
for every step you ever took
and every right becomes a wrong
every dream is completely shattered
and every choice turns into one big regret.

Well, that, my friend,
is called I told you so.

The dream

Last night I had a dream
another dream to add to the hundreds
that came before

But in that dream
you were gone

How could my own mind
have been so cruel?

Then I woke up
and realised the dream
was not only a dream after all

I was left with a sadness
that not even the sad
could comprehend

I started to cry
silently
softly
and uncontrollably

I miss you so desperately, dear
and I don't think I can quite manage
to face this loneliness without you

Nos últimos meses, virou meu ofício desvender o erro cometido por outros. Tentar apontar como um falso imaginar pode moldar as atitudes. O instante definidor entre o pensar e o agir... o finalmente arrepender-se.
No fundo, sei que apenas repito o que sempre fez parte de minha vida. Seja dom ou maldição, fui indicado a observar - para em algum momento acusar. Assim não é tão surpreendente que os papéis se invertam e de repente eu me enxergue como um dos personagens ampliados por uma lente.
Nos últimos meses, não percebi meu reiterado erro. Tive tanta certeza que o problema era eu, que não estava pronto, que não tomara as corretas atitudes. Não parei para pensar e reparar que era mais uma vítima desses jogos que repetimos todos os dias, que testemunhamos na vida de amigos e por vezes insistimos em ignorar. E guiei meu coração para um vazio, uma quarentena sem prazo, uma cela sem cadeado. Não fui eu afinal o errado?
Porque você sabia que eu iria quebrar, que bastaria alguns passos para gritar por uma espécie de salvação. Você planejou sem planejar, e seu plano veio muito a acalhar para o seu plano de então. Talvez você o fez sem pensar, ou mesmo imaginar, que seria o grande perdedor.
Você também foi vítima de uma falsa representação. Você achou que nunca iria amar e assim o caminho curto que resolveu tomar levou a uma volta sem explicação. Um dia talvez você venha a acordar e perceber que só porque não era eu não significa dizer que um dia não poderei ser.
Talvez um dia eu venha a ser. Ao repetir o mesmo padrão com tantos objetos, talvez você perceba também onde errou. E o falso imaginar finalmente destrua o que a imaginação criou.

Always the same

They say that
just because there are two sides to every story
it doesn't mean there is no such thing
as a good or bad storyteller

And because life may turn around
it is just the same
when it comes to fortunetellers

And what about love?
The many ways of loving
one might choose;
are we allowed to rate
lovers as if love
was not always the same?