said your memories of me were all good
when most of mine left my throat in flames.

i never let the words slip away, so they burn, burn, burn, time and time again.

around 3 a.m. at new year's day i texted you.
no amount of heavy drinking was enough to forget you,

so the ashes from all the unsaid things fell through my fingers.
i pressed "send" while feeling my heart beating.

i never really know how to talk to you, it's always a fucking game of hide and seek i can't get right.

after all was said,

or most of all,

we started talking again like we used to, 

i started daydreaming 'bout you.

but our timing is never right

and we keep getting lost in translation,

again and again and again.

riding our own little twisted carousel. 

i never know if that's called "timing" or, really, just "fate".

it's been a long time

but we finally see each other due to a power outage emergency.

two exhausted bodies reuniting after a long time.

we small talk in my bed, watching the world from the open window.

the street light illuminating our faces while we try to deny ourselves

but the thing is we can't. 

in a second your lips meet mine,

our hands make their way home.

we write our story in acts.

you pull me closer, i rest my head in your chest.

you hold me tighter, telling me how much you like my silly ninja turtles' pj.

i feel the pieces of me you've broken glue themselves back together.

time goes on without our consent,

it's all ending too soon, so we enjoy it. 

instead of calling your cab, you stay a little longer.

i can almost believe we'll make it work.

by 4 a.m. you're gone.

the walls we built,

the words we never say,

the distance between us,

it all just goes right back to where it used to be.

the carousel starts spinning again,
again and again and again...

and i'm tired of feeling dizzy.

who are you?

it's been almost three weeks now,

once again she brings up these questions:

are you ok?

are you feeling lonely?

this time, another one comes up:

what about that friend of yours, is she moving in?

at that moment i searched my brain for an answer i hadn't completely found yet;

oddly enough, what comes out of my mouth is this:

who are you?

who are you when you're not a mother?

who are you when you're not a daughter?

who are you when you're not a wife, a sister, a roommate?

those questions came up during a speech of some character in a silly rom-com movie

and there they were, flashing in my brain in pink neon lights,

spilling out of my mouth as my answer started to shape itself out.

do you know it?

can you tell me?

i don't, i can't.

but i want to find out.

who am i at 3 a.m., sleepless and afraid?

who am i in the middle of the afternoon, melting because of the heat?

who am i when i wake up 

and have the chance to be the person inside this body for another day?

who am i?

who are you? 

so, believe me when i say:

mamma, i am ok;

sometimes i get lonely, but

mamma, i am ok. 

---

"the thing about being single is, you should cherish it because in a week, or, a lifetime of being alone, you may only get one moment. one moment when you're not tied up in a relationship with anyone;
a parent, a pet, a sibiling, a friend. one moment when you stand on you own".
- how to be single

Engraçado como as coisas se encaixam no grande espectro da vida.

Domingo, noite, festa surpresa de um amigo. Pediram-me para colocar alguma música para tocar e só consegui pensar naquela performance de uma das bandas incríveis que passei a gostar desde o ano passado e a admirar após ter visto as últimas duas músicas daquela mesma performance na TV ao vivo. Catártica, definiria um deles.

Terça-feira, começo de tarde, em meio à coisas desinteressantes em uma rede social. Um vídeo de uma das músicas que nem ao menos está entre as minhas preferidas em algum estúdio. Fui impactada mais uma vez pela forma honesta com que mãos tremiam e letras cruelmente honestas eram cantadas entre alguns berros. Segui vendo os vídeos que se seguiram deste e, de alguma forma, me encontrei com uma das poucas conversas no mundo jornalístico que quase fez renascer em mim aquela vontade adolescente de fazer parte deste mundo.

Outro dia, assisti Before Sunrise e os outros dois filmes dessa série. Desde então, o incômodo da dificuldade em encontrar conexões reais neste mundo permanesce em mim. Principalmente aquelas com pessoas reais, com cérebros pensantes que vão além das obviedades e convenções da vida, que vão além das mentiras que criamos para viver socialmente e das verdades difíceis que não temos coragem para dizer.


Conversei sobre isso com uma única pessoa, alguém com quem me sinto apenas um pouco menos desconfortável para dizer o que penso e formular certas teorias, mas não foi o suficiente. As respostas foram simplistas demais pra solucionar a grandeza das questões sufocando minha mente. Larguei de mão. 

Forcei-me a esquecer o sufocamento, voltei à superfície na qual descansamos para evitar que as perguntas sem respostas nos enlouqueçam. Sometimes to stay alive, you gotta kill your mind, ele diria. Tudo isso, entretanto, veio à tona com a conversa que acabei de ver. Colocar-se à frente de alguém e debater todas as questões que nos perseguem e realmente ter um diálogo sobre isso não deveria ser tão surpreendente, mas é.

Por alguns minutos incríveis vi como as angústias e teorias que criamos se relacionam no lugar distorcido das ideias, como todos nós lidamos com monstros parecidos e como seria mais fácil expor nossos medos e sufocamentos com pessoas com o poder de contribuir, de expor suas próprias feridas e mostrar que não estamos sozinhos. Ou apenas pessoas com o poder de escutar, de verdade. Pessoas que com uma única lembrança de uma letra de música claramente iluminam todo o tormento que sentimos por dentro.

Quão estranho é considerar raro o ato de ser tão humano;

Quão difícil é o sê-lo.

i took a bus to your town.

not to see you. in the end, you were all i thought about.

i took a long walk around your big city with my friends.

it overwhelmed me a little. i should've been happy to be with them but i wasn't.

i ain't.

i took a bus back home.

the pain in my chest grew as i made my way back down south.

the songs on my playlist didn't help much, neither did you.

i'm not much for walking, but yesterday i did it until it hurt.

self-inflicted pain is all i know about getting over a broken heart.

i sat down on a bench right in front of the sea.

the pain of holding onto you overflowing my eyes.

your silence pressing down my chest 'til i could barely breathe.

the open-end of the story that never really began cutting into my old battle wounds.

i took a bus to work and there i wiped my tears away.

at least i learnt the concept of "faking it" earlier in life,

though i've been faking it since you walked away and i'm still nowhere near "making" anything.

you fucked up my heart.

the only guy i trusted not to.

 and i've been stuck in the same place since you did it.

 the worst is that after all your mixed up signals, i'm not even sure why.

-

"you left me here by the sea,

now all i wish i could see is you and me"