unicidades

Muito bacana isto aqui . Quanto mais eu penso, mais eu sei que estou no lugar errado.

The Boy's Gone. It's Thursday morning and he makes plans. I wake up, brush my teeth and take a look at myself in the mirror. I miss the days in which I used to write and be inspired. I look at people and I just see consumption. How could I possibly redeem myself? Should I? Courage can also blind us. I am happy I made it this far, Jason. For someone who has always fought against the odds and has swum against the tides, I made it very far. It hurts so much to do so much with so little. I don’t understand why. That piece was just a confused draft. My pieces aren't good enough. I want to come back to who I was. To that little girl with pure heart. But all I have is a hurt soul. Look at my hands, they bleed. Pardon my grammar, Mr. No-One. English is not my first language. Love is and I am screwed.

This is me and a red wall a sad, red wall I was wearing your shirt the one I stained with my blood the one that smelled like you the one that had love written all over It happened on a Friday night when I came home I was sad for no reason Now I know I saw it coming and I didn't want to believe because love, love is this sacred thing I have saught love isn't sad love is good poetry inside and out

As she sat outside the store, waiting for her soul to heal, she realized that the first time she did her mom's make up, her mom was dead. Black birds were near. Her womb hurt. Some people are born to suffer and ache. For every five minutes of happiness, there are 10 hours of suffering. Go figure. Is it a curse? Or is it that G-d loves who suffers? It's windy and cold and I remember we had plans for winter. A trip to South America, hot chocolate, the stars, the beach. And now, this black hole you left me in. Amos Lee knows what I am talking about. I can't get enough of this song .

Muita coisa morreu dentro de mim nas ultimas semanas. Agora tenho que crema-las.

A primeira vez que ela se manifestou no meu blog foi para falar de maos. E orquideas. Desde entao, ela sempre me le, atura as faltas de acento, as tristezas, as ausencias, por e-mail me ajuda com palavras de apoio e quando pensei que estava com leucemia, foi ela que me apoiou e me doou seu tempo. Lendo The Art of Loving cheguei a conclusao que Erich Fromm tem mesmo razao ao dizer que o amor tem que ser extensivo e inclusivo e nao se pode amar somente ao ser amado, como se for a este um objeto. Pois a Sissi me mostra sempre que o amor que ela tem e universal e que, sim, embora ela seja uma intelectual, o que mais importa para ela e o amor. Esta semana, segunda-feira de noite, ao chegar em casa me deparei com um envelope na porta. Ao abri-lo, encontrei dois posters de tango belissimos. Mas mais belo que os posters, foi a mensagem. Que eu nao pare de escrever porque a ajudo a pensar. E que pensar e existir. Cogito Ergo Sum. Me emocionou muito saber que ha alguem que me le e que se importa...

Foi uma noite emocionante. Espero que a vida das pessoas mude, se pelo menos for apenas uma mudanca de atitude ja esta de bom tamanho.

I lost the rhythm of writing. Writing breathes with a certain rhythm and I have lost that. I have lost that intensity. I have lost that idea I used to have that my writings are important. I have lost that idea that, perhaps, some of my pieces are good and could inspire beautiful things in people.