A sala dos meus sonhos

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A sala dos meus sonhos. Para ver mais, clique aqui.

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To Someone

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The architecture of the city is plural and restless. Your voice comes and goes. The sky was pale blue today. White here and there. Clouds. Whispers.  Our dialog is more vivid now. I still see how intense your eyes are. You come and go from me. But I know you never really leave. At least, that is the illusion that keeps me - going? I see patterns. They make sense. Like you made sense a while ago. I can't reason with Love, can I? Love, this palpable, irrational measurement of attachment and desire.  I don't know if you are the same anymore. The same I knew.  Did I ever know you? It doesn't matter because you fit like a symptom fits a disease. You fit my fantasy. My fantasy was so concrete and so tangible. I play us in my head. If I had. If you had. But history doesn't rewrite itself.  I can't walk down the street to try and find you.   Unchanged sea. Under the same sheltering sky. I love you.
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My Dimples of Venus and Your Blue Eyes  I now admire my dimples of Venus. They are mesmerizing. It took me some time to get here, at this stage of self-admiration.  Is there any meaning in having them? I am building my self-esteem up from shattered glass. The fire is back. I now hear people saying you are very strong, and I agree. It's the forza my best friend talks about. I call it courage.  Your blue eyes. The catalysts. I revisit the past in black and white. Your blue eyes are still my weakness.  I have always searched for you, and then I stopped looking. It seems like you had been there all along, and I didn't realize. It was like searching for air. It was all around me and yet invisible.  I want the sun to burn my skin again. The vitality of the day entrenching my pores with joy and sweat. The perks of being close to the ocean. The second most perfect place after your blue eyes. I need you to make me yours with resolution and a brave spirit. I don't want cr...
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Eternal Spring In The Broken Heart

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To NR. My heart feels so tight today. It needs an outpouring— of grief and joy, of all the things that make it so heavy, so dense. A stampede of emotions, disconnected hues. It just rained here. The sky was dark, and sad. But now—light, breezy, hot and humid. You remember, don’t you, What it feels like in Florida after the heavy rain? I even saw a rainbow today. It made me think of our jokes, our giggles. And we could giggle— still. I feel fortunate that I had the rain, the clouds, the rainbow, and now the sun and a blue sky. For fleeting moments, yes— but still. I have the memory of them, at least for now. And Flamenco is playing, saying softly: te quiero. It resonates almost like the sound of almonds as spoken by you— in the whispering escaping from your lips, unsolicited eroticism and yet welcomed. In the same way, I feel fortunate to have experienced us. Even if it was only a fraction of time— a Dali clock, melting away. Our time together, shaped by ...
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