“B”

Ele se define como um típico ariano

Mas possui tantas nuances que eu fico a me perguntar 

Quem é ele?

Um historiador, um contador de histórias, ou fazedor de história?

Um geoscientista do método, da teoria ou da aplicação?

Uma palavra em desuso, uma gíria ou um neologismo?

Você é verbo, sujeito ou predicado?

Objeto direto, oculto ou indeterminado?

Plural, singular, ou coletivo?

É poeta, poesia ou inspiração? 

É de perder o fôlego, tirar suspiro ou prender a respiração?

Corpo quente, coração palpitante, num para um instante.

E agora ariano?

Você que jura que é fogo, me diz

Arrisco botar a mão ou não?

Jealousy

I didn’t ask 

Not because I was afraid he could lie

Whatever it was 

I don’t even have how to prove 

If it was true 

Or if it was untrue 

I didn’t ask

Because I was afraid 

Afraid what I was wondering was true

And he would took the courage 

To tell me he was seeing someone 

That he had moved on

And I was nothing

But another one

LearnIng how to be a heartless being

It was an oversight

A memory lapse

A failed act

There was no reason 

Consciousness

Or purpose 

I just forgot my heart there, with him

Didn't realize till I needed it back

Till started hurting

(Yeah, I had forgotten also that love hurts)

Till I figured out I couldn't control its beats anymore

I can't blame him

He hadn't ask for it

He haven't stole it

He might even haven't noticed I left it there

It's not his fault

I didn't give him as gift

Or left it there, at the center of the table to be found

I don't even remember exactly when and where I left it

All I know is that when I was back I was missing it 

I must have forgotten it there, with him

And I want to ask him to bring me back

Because I miss him 

Because this absence of him hurts

Because I'm afraid I won't see him anymore

And I'm afraid to ask him to bring it back me

I don't want him to know that I let my defenses down

I don't want him to see how little is my heart

I don't want him to know how cold and hard I can be

Maybe I should just let it go

Start to get used to live without him 

Learn how to be a heartless being

After all, who needs a heart when you are so afraid to love?

Foi um leitura longa, demorada, pausada, eu diria até interrompida.
Interrompida pela tua ausência se fazendo presente toda vez que a palavra falta no texto aparecia.
Interrompida pela lembrança de ter você em meus braços toda a vez que a palavra juntos era lida.
Interrompida por um sorriso bobo toda vez que as palavras amor, felicidade e suas correlatas saltavam entre as linhas.
Interrompida por longos suspiros quando as palavras longe e distante se infiltravam nas frases escritas.
E ao final da leitura, um livro curto e intenso de final positivo e esperançoso, quis te escrever: "Como é bom sentir saudades de você"; assim mesmo, em bom português.
Mas você não iria entender. Não é uma questão de tradução. Sentimentos não se traduzem em palavras, e você nem fala a minha língua...

Sweethurt

His eyes were lost when my eyes found him. There, waiting for the elevator, he was so beautiful that hurt me. I couldn't be more sad about the great probability of not seeing him again, about the possibility of never been noticed. But probabilities are misunderstood and do not reflect fate. Defying the reality I created for us, we met again. I didn't take too much to realize that a fire was ignited between us. We both were burning so explosive was the attraction. And before melting completely, I took his picture afraid I wouldn't see him again and declared to myself that I had felt in love . I analyzed his picture over and over again, all the angles, the colors, the shapes, the details. It was almost impossible to stop looking at it. It was unacceptable not to create a new reality for us. It was painful not to be able to deny that he made me smile every time I thought about us. He lies to me, and I know it. And the best part of it is that he knows that I know. But we don't talk about it, we just accept it. He makes me shiver and he knows this is been challenging to me. But we don't look for reasons, we both have fears. He can't be mine and he knows I wish he was. But we don't make promises, we let it be. Because I am his little doll, the one he plays whenever he wants, but because he wants. He gives meaning to the few seconds we spend together. And I love that he is wild, intense, indomitable, free. And I might be just one more for him, but he is my only and unique sweethurt.