I feel pretty crappy today. Just got home from dinner to find the house empty (well the cat and the funiture are still here...) And yes, I went to dinner all by myself... I still called a friend of mine to see if he wanted to go and we could have dinner and talk.. But he was working tonight. So, I guess that just left me as a company option. Lousy company I should add.. Anyway, I was ok. I had a bit of a slack and a lil' breath and I thought a lot. Needless to say trips down the memory lane are always a bitch.. Hey and guess what? Don't tell anyone but apparently I am the boogeyman.. I was in the train today, and I think I got a lil' distracted with my own thoughts... So, as I was saying I was there in the train and I believe I cried a bit.. I was sooo off the galaxy I swear. So, I was sitting on one of the side benches and this little girl (7, 8 years old I think) was a bit aside with her mom I presume. The next thing I know, she was like beside me, looking at me. I didn't say a thing. I hear this tiny voice.
"Someone hit you?"
I had my head low but I looked at her through my hair cos I know my eyes were red.
"No sweetie. No one hit me." I put my best to draw a smile for that little angel, despite what I was feeling inside. I hope she does not witness or live any of the pain that the world has to offer.
Her mother looked overly protective at her. She called her to sit next to her and I resumed my previous position, eyes locked on the floor. I would never hurt her if that's what you think...
29 May, 2006
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28 May, 2006
23 May, 2006
Demon
*This is not mine, it's from someone who wrote it, not taking credits for it.*
She sits on the bed, chewing on her fingernails. She tries determinedly to focus on homework.
I drift to her side, chuckling to myself. She's a pretty little thing, despite what she thinks. Dark hair frames a soft face with lovely brown eyes.
Eyes that are full of struggle. She tries pouring every ounce of concentration into what would normally take her less than a few seconds. It doesn't work.
Gently I whisper such into her ear.
She bites down hard on her finger accidentally, and shakes her hand out angrily.
"That hurt," she whispers.
"That felt good," I whisper back.
Her troubled eyes dart up. She glances quickly around the room, but misses me. Her eyes rest when she finds the mirror. She studies herself. She sees the same picture I see, with dislike not unlike my own.
Her injured hand slowly comes up to touch her soft hair. She curls it around her fingertips absent-mindedly. Her mind rests on the mystery behind those brown eyes.
"What's wrong in there?" She whispers.
"Quite a bit," I answer back, after a pause.
Taken aback at the thought that just entered her mind, she turns from the mirror.
"How do I fix it?" She wonders aloud.
I nudge her notebook, and it falls to the floor. She reaches down to grab it, and her eyes freeze on the scars that aimlessly tracked their way under her forearm.
She answered her own question.
"Oh, you do remember this, don't you . . ." It was more a statement than question.
I drifted behind her, then around her to her side, watching her examine her arm. I reached out and traced the irregular pattern branded there.
"What were you thinking?" I whisper quietly, almost rebukingly, into her ear.
"What was I thinking?" she asks herself, turning to the mirror again.
She looks long into the lost brown eyes, seeing what she so easily hides from others, when not confronting herself.
Or me.
"Didn't it used to help things?" I ask her.
"It used to help things," She says. "It was a useful escape."
I chuckle. "An escape from what? The perfect family? The perfect friends? The perfect life?"
"What did I need to escape? It was too perfect . . . I couldn't meet their expectations. I couldn't help but . . . disappoint them." She says to herself.
I lay my hand on her forearm. She lays her hand on top of mine, though she took no notice.
She sighs brokenly. I look into the face reflected in the mirror, and a tear falls down her face.
"Crying doesn't help anymore," I say.
"Crying's never helped me any," She says.
But then she was sobbing into her hands.
"It never helped!" She moans.
"You're angry," I say.
"I'm so angry!" She says. "At myself. At people. At God," she spoke angrily, between sobs. "I'm sick of it all!" She says even louder, her head rising from her hands.
"You don't deserve any of this." I got down and kneeled in front of her.
"What did I do to deserve any of this?" She slaps the notebook still in her lap. As if just realizing it was there, I watch her eyes flit down to it. Then she grabs it and flings it hard against the opposite wall.
It crashes into a picture frame sitting innocently on her desk, and sends it shattering against the corner of the desk and tumbling onto the floor.
Isosceles triangles scatter, sharp and threatening.
The broken picture seems to empower her, and I watch amusedly as something like rage turns her pretty face into an ugly mask.
She cries earnestly now, but doesn't collapse into herself. No, I thought, The collapse would come later.
"Look at what you did," I scold softly. "That wasn't smart. That was a little stupid if you ask me."
"That was stupid!" She thinks to herself. "I'm an idiot."
She was mad, and she began pace now. She couldn't keep her hands by her side; one second she throws them up and pulls wildly at her hair, the next they're clenched into white-knuckle, tight-fisted balls, with fingernails digging deep into flesh. Then she has her arms crossed so tightly in front of her chest, she has trouble breathing, and almost doubts that she could uncross them. The next second her fists are flying wildly above her head.
I drift over the broken glass that she barely missed trampling over and over again, and stop in front of where she was tugging wickedly on her hair again.
I grab her fists, and look into her eyes. She stares right through mine, but stops beating herself. She was breathing heavily.
"If you don't calm down, you're going to break something. Or," I lean closer, "hurt yourself."
She stares wildly into my eyes without knowing she was, and I saw my idea, my suggestion, crawl into her mind like salt into a wound.
She doesn't say anything, just tumbles onto the floor. Several emotions flit across her face. Few people would be able to pick each and every one up like I could.
First the rage drained from her eyes. Fear shuffled in. The idea scared her.
"Not again," She whispers.
Fear made room for desperation and hopelessness.
"No.Just.No there's got to be something." She's breathless. ".Someone.that can help this."
"Like who?"
"I wish-God. God will help me right?"
I sneer. "That God of yours? He's too perfect. You know you'd never be good enough for Him." I point to her wrist. "That's why you started that. It's disgusting. You don't really think He'd take you back after what you've done to yourself?"
"No. No. God doesn't want someone who can't even-control herself. And if even God's too good for me, then everyone else is."
Anger shoved its way onto her face.
"You're still mad at yourself," I whisper.
"I'm an idiot," She says. "I'm a failure."
"You're a failure, and it hurts you so bad that you don't even know what to do."
She pauses. "Yes I do."
She glares at herself even as she reaches for a shard of the glass littered a foot away from her.
She was furious. But it was a calm ferocity. It was a helpless, desperate ferocity. With such, she lays the sliver of glass on her forearm, and pierced her skin.
With every gash, a single emotion fades.
Slash.
Fear melts.
Slash.
Desperation vanishes.
Slash.
Hopelessness dissolves.
Slash.
Rejection disappears.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
SLASH.
She tries to cut the anger away, but it won't fade. It just won't go away. Each gash only triggers more anger. Anger at herself.
I watch, pleased.
She was weeping. She couldn't afford to try to let go of the anger anymore. Terrified that if she let herself continue, she'd bleed to death, she lays there and cries. The bloody sliver of glass falls out of her hand and drops to the floor.
I stand above her head, and look down.
"That helped, didn't it?"
With a shriek, she snatches glass from the floor and launches it right at me.
The shard pierces thin air, where if I had a heart, it would have hit. I laugh, and vanish.
She sits on the bed, chewing on her fingernails. She tries determinedly to focus on homework.
I drift to her side, chuckling to myself. She's a pretty little thing, despite what she thinks. Dark hair frames a soft face with lovely brown eyes.
Eyes that are full of struggle. She tries pouring every ounce of concentration into what would normally take her less than a few seconds. It doesn't work.
Gently I whisper such into her ear.
She bites down hard on her finger accidentally, and shakes her hand out angrily.
"That hurt," she whispers.
"That felt good," I whisper back.
Her troubled eyes dart up. She glances quickly around the room, but misses me. Her eyes rest when she finds the mirror. She studies herself. She sees the same picture I see, with dislike not unlike my own.
Her injured hand slowly comes up to touch her soft hair. She curls it around her fingertips absent-mindedly. Her mind rests on the mystery behind those brown eyes.
"What's wrong in there?" She whispers.
"Quite a bit," I answer back, after a pause.
Taken aback at the thought that just entered her mind, she turns from the mirror.
"How do I fix it?" She wonders aloud.
I nudge her notebook, and it falls to the floor. She reaches down to grab it, and her eyes freeze on the scars that aimlessly tracked their way under her forearm.
She answered her own question.
"Oh, you do remember this, don't you . . ." It was more a statement than question.
I drifted behind her, then around her to her side, watching her examine her arm. I reached out and traced the irregular pattern branded there.
"What were you thinking?" I whisper quietly, almost rebukingly, into her ear.
"What was I thinking?" she asks herself, turning to the mirror again.
She looks long into the lost brown eyes, seeing what she so easily hides from others, when not confronting herself.
Or me.
"Didn't it used to help things?" I ask her.
"It used to help things," She says. "It was a useful escape."
I chuckle. "An escape from what? The perfect family? The perfect friends? The perfect life?"
"What did I need to escape? It was too perfect . . . I couldn't meet their expectations. I couldn't help but . . . disappoint them." She says to herself.
I lay my hand on her forearm. She lays her hand on top of mine, though she took no notice.
She sighs brokenly. I look into the face reflected in the mirror, and a tear falls down her face.
"Crying doesn't help anymore," I say.
"Crying's never helped me any," She says.
But then she was sobbing into her hands.
"It never helped!" She moans.
"You're angry," I say.
"I'm so angry!" She says. "At myself. At people. At God," she spoke angrily, between sobs. "I'm sick of it all!" She says even louder, her head rising from her hands.
"You don't deserve any of this." I got down and kneeled in front of her.
"What did I do to deserve any of this?" She slaps the notebook still in her lap. As if just realizing it was there, I watch her eyes flit down to it. Then she grabs it and flings it hard against the opposite wall.
It crashes into a picture frame sitting innocently on her desk, and sends it shattering against the corner of the desk and tumbling onto the floor.
Isosceles triangles scatter, sharp and threatening.
The broken picture seems to empower her, and I watch amusedly as something like rage turns her pretty face into an ugly mask.
She cries earnestly now, but doesn't collapse into herself. No, I thought, The collapse would come later.
"Look at what you did," I scold softly. "That wasn't smart. That was a little stupid if you ask me."
"That was stupid!" She thinks to herself. "I'm an idiot."
She was mad, and she began pace now. She couldn't keep her hands by her side; one second she throws them up and pulls wildly at her hair, the next they're clenched into white-knuckle, tight-fisted balls, with fingernails digging deep into flesh. Then she has her arms crossed so tightly in front of her chest, she has trouble breathing, and almost doubts that she could uncross them. The next second her fists are flying wildly above her head.
I drift over the broken glass that she barely missed trampling over and over again, and stop in front of where she was tugging wickedly on her hair again.
I grab her fists, and look into her eyes. She stares right through mine, but stops beating herself. She was breathing heavily.
"If you don't calm down, you're going to break something. Or," I lean closer, "hurt yourself."
She stares wildly into my eyes without knowing she was, and I saw my idea, my suggestion, crawl into her mind like salt into a wound.
She doesn't say anything, just tumbles onto the floor. Several emotions flit across her face. Few people would be able to pick each and every one up like I could.
First the rage drained from her eyes. Fear shuffled in. The idea scared her.
"Not again," She whispers.
Fear made room for desperation and hopelessness.
"No.Just.No there's got to be something." She's breathless. ".Someone.that can help this."
"Like who?"
"I wish-God. God will help me right?"
I sneer. "That God of yours? He's too perfect. You know you'd never be good enough for Him." I point to her wrist. "That's why you started that. It's disgusting. You don't really think He'd take you back after what you've done to yourself?"
"No. No. God doesn't want someone who can't even-control herself. And if even God's too good for me, then everyone else is."
Anger shoved its way onto her face.
"You're still mad at yourself," I whisper.
"I'm an idiot," She says. "I'm a failure."
"You're a failure, and it hurts you so bad that you don't even know what to do."
She pauses. "Yes I do."
She glares at herself even as she reaches for a shard of the glass littered a foot away from her.
She was furious. But it was a calm ferocity. It was a helpless, desperate ferocity. With such, she lays the sliver of glass on her forearm, and pierced her skin.
With every gash, a single emotion fades.
Slash.
Fear melts.
Slash.
Desperation vanishes.
Slash.
Hopelessness dissolves.
Slash.
Rejection disappears.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
SLASH.
She tries to cut the anger away, but it won't fade. It just won't go away. Each gash only triggers more anger. Anger at herself.
I watch, pleased.
She was weeping. She couldn't afford to try to let go of the anger anymore. Terrified that if she let herself continue, she'd bleed to death, she lays there and cries. The bloody sliver of glass falls out of her hand and drops to the floor.
I stand above her head, and look down.
"That helped, didn't it?"
With a shriek, she snatches glass from the floor and launches it right at me.
The shard pierces thin air, where if I had a heart, it would have hit. I laugh, and vanish.
20 May, 2006
Toda a gente conhece com certeza aquela sensação quando damos uma topada bem forte no dedo grande do pé, ou qualquer um deles na verdade... pois bem, tentem ampliar essa sensação aí umas cem vezes e apliquem-na a nível abdominal, mais própriamente no estômago. Bom, um murro bem forte também serve... *sighs* É assim que me sinto hoje.. Assim e como se tivesse levado um coice de um elefante na cabeça.. Não, eu não bebi nada, mas sinto-me como se tivesse apanhado a maior cadela do mundo... É TÃOOOOOOOOOOO irritante quando temos tanto jeito paras umas coisas e somos um completo desastre noutras. Só dá vontade de bater com a cabecita (ou o que resta dela na parede mais próxima... : /
Acho que fiz um grande disparate. Mais um, a acrescentar à "Lista"..
Hoje acordei bem cedo. Na verdade, acho que nem sequer dormi.. Tive naquele estado dorme-não dorme a noite inteira. A almofada estava molhada. No meio disso, tudo devo ter chorado a meio da noite ou coisa parecida.. Não me lembro.
Mas há tantas outras coisas que eu gostava de me lembrar e não consigo :(
Gostava de me lembrar como era aos 15 anos.. Gostava de me lembrar quando ainda era..
:,(
-----------------------------------------//---//-----------------------------------
"I'm trying to get out of the closet, but since it's even darker outside I don't think the perspectives are that good.."
Acho que fiz um grande disparate. Mais um, a acrescentar à "Lista"..
Hoje acordei bem cedo. Na verdade, acho que nem sequer dormi.. Tive naquele estado dorme-não dorme a noite inteira. A almofada estava molhada. No meio disso, tudo devo ter chorado a meio da noite ou coisa parecida.. Não me lembro.
Mas há tantas outras coisas que eu gostava de me lembrar e não consigo :(
Gostava de me lembrar como era aos 15 anos.. Gostava de me lembrar quando ainda era..
:,(
-----------------------------------------//---//-----------------------------------
"I'm trying to get out of the closet, but since it's even darker outside I don't think the perspectives are that good.."
200 Hits
Well well, look at what we have here! :)
It seems that we have reached ( amazingly as it seems... ) the fabulous 200 hits. Well, I gotta say am happy with that. I just want to thank everyone who visited the blog and to those who didn't (or just stayed for 3 seconds... (^_^) ). Thanks for coming :)
Ok now a crappy pseudo banner I did ( 'k i dunno proper HTML or drawing, sue me)
Thanks everyone. ;)
It seems that we have reached ( amazingly as it seems... ) the fabulous 200 hits. Well, I gotta say am happy with that. I just want to thank everyone who visited the blog and to those who didn't (or just stayed for 3 seconds... (^_^) ). Thanks for coming :)
Ok now a crappy pseudo banner I did ( 'k i dunno proper HTML or drawing, sue me)
Thanks everyone. ;)
19 May, 2006
It's been 48 hours... I can't lie to myself and say it has been something tolerable, because it hasn't. I only can associate this to when you stop taking drugs and you have that period where you're sick. You got fever, cold sweat, you tremble, you throw up.. you NEED that drug AGAIN!! Though it has been hot, i can no longer feel the rays of sun on my skin, nor the quiet breeze that flows by me. If I once said I wasn't going to be open to love again and love just fell onto me, now I am sure I will never give into it's enchantment again. That switch is permanently damaged. To suffer again? No, I have suffered enough. I believed I had found my soulmate, but now I believe I cannot find it in this plan of life. Some people are destined to find true love, some are destined to wander through this desert planet in search of some confort for their troubled souls. I'll keep wandering till God thinks it's time I should have a little rest. But you know what? There's is a little something that brings me little confort in all this ladder n' snake game. Actually a little someone. We don't talk much, we don't even hang out. We just exchange glances sometimes, some words even. I some times spot her from afar. I like her. But I'm mentally challenged enough to bring someone more to this alice in neverland maze that is my life. *sighs*
17 May, 2006
Today I spoke with a friend of mine that I haven't spoken properly for ages and I was still a bit shaken up from all of today's events. She wanted to know why am I acting so strangely and why I haven't been showing up and everything... I told her that some things are discussed better personally. By saying that I thought I was dismissing any possibility of meeting her since she has a busy life, right? Wrong.. I got myself a dinner on Friday and I better explain whatever am I doing and explain it good (her words). I kicked myself hard (not that I was in need of other injuries) over that. Realization hit me. Knowing her as I do, on Friday she's gonna squeeze me till the last drop of info she wants.. And I can't do anything about it. I'm afraid she's going to have to deal with some revelations to which I don't think she's yet prepared. She might take it well or not.. Or maybe I am the one who is not prepared to deal with the truth of allowing those revelations to be verbalized.
Well, let's just pray she doesn't faint on me...
Well, let's just pray she doesn't faint on me...
16 May, 2006
Simplesmente Não
Não vou chorar não vou gritar não vou mandar coisas à parede não vou parti-las não vou bater nas almofadas não vou bater com os meus punhos na parede até ficar com nódoas negras não vou ficar dois meses fechada em casa sem sair não vou ficar na cama os dias inteiros sem me levantar nem para comer não vou ficar a sentir pena de mim própria pelo que aconteceu ou deixou de acontecer não vou culpar o mundo nem Deus não vou tratar os outros abaixo de cão só porque a vida não me corre bem não vou lançar-me ao mar não vou cortar-me como das outras vezes não vou deixar que os remorsos se apoderem do meu espírito fraco não vou perder-me em mim... Outra vez.
Muitas vezes na vida somos obrigados a tomar decisões difíceis. Muitas vezes não queremos tomar essas decisões porque ao as tomarmos, desejaríamos não o ter feito. Eu acabei de tomar a minha.
It’s better to live with half a love than taking chances on losing it all.
O Amor é talvez das forças mais poderosas e complexas que já alguma vez existiu. Todos nós com certeza já o experimentamos nas suas variadas formas.
Há quem fuja por amor, há quem morra por amor, há quem mate por amor... Eu estaria disposta a tudo isto. Por amor.
Mas muitas vezes temos que fugir do Amor porque é errado ou porque simplesmente não pode existir. Eu acabei de o fazer.
Acreditem, custou-me muito mais fazê-lo do que alguma vez imaginei. Sentir as lágrimas a ameaçarem explodir nos meus olhos, o nó na garganta, a respiração ofegante, o bater errático do coração... E pior ainda, ver o sujeito da nossa adoração incondicional mesmo à nossa frente, a desfalecer, como se nós próprios o tivéssemos trespassado com um punhal. Eu também senti essa dor no meu corpo e na minha alma. Senti o ar a escapar dos pulmões quando proferi a nossa sentença: Não nos podemos ver mais.
Disse estas palavras quase sem pinga de sangue no corpo, e voltei as costas porque não suportei ver os olhos perdidos, irados, complacentes que miravam fixamente os meus e penetravam na minha alma.
Senti que me rasgavam ao meio e não voltei atrás. Ainda ouvi o meu nome, um sussurro ensurdecedor ecoava nos meus ouvidos. Disse a mim mesma que não ia olhar para trás. Falhei a minha promessa.
Não consegui. Os mesmos olhos de há pouco, tinham uma expressão plácida, quase de submissão. Não eram olhos enraivecidos nem acusatórios. A culpa não era nossa e nós sabíamos disso perfeitamente.
Eu estava a poucos passos do olhar vazio e quebrado. Parecia que todos os músculos do meu corpo tinham congelado instantaneamente. Eu era um bloco de gelo. Pela última vez senti os seus braços à minha volta, envolvendo-me por completo num cerco de fogo. Senti o corpo estremecer por debaixo da capa de indiferença que tentava manter a todo o custo. Senti que a sua respiração no meu pescoço, me quebrava lentamente. Os seus lábios deslizavam até ao meu ouvido enquanto eu permanecia imóvel. As suas mãos subiam devagar como serpentes numa árvore e só pararam no meu rosto. Ouvi um suspiro apenas.
“Tu serás sempre minha.”
O nó que se encontrava na minha garganta desceu subitamente para ser substituído com um soluço e as lágrimas finalmente cobriam os nossos rostos.
Por cada lágrima, um beijo. Saborear o sal das nossas próprias lágrimas nos lábios de outrem tem algo de catártico, algo malevolamente reconfortante.
Ficamos assim por alguns instantes. Olhos vermelhos, espíritos quebrados e lançados ao deus-dará... Nem uma palavra mais foi proferida. Alguém tinha que ceder.
Eu sai daquele local, sentindo o vulto que ficara para trás de mim prostrar-se pelo chão gritando dentro de si aquilo que eu sentia em mim mesma. Ódio, cólera, impotência, confusão, mágoa, frustração, culpa, angústia, dor, solidão.
Nesse momento dei-me conta que estava só. Finalmente só.
Espero que as mentes podres e doentias que tiveram parte neste conluio de néscios tenham um fim bastante adequado. Diz-se que tudo o que fazemos aos outros, volta para nós a triplicar. É a lei kármica. Espero bem que todos tenham um fim à altura dos seus actos hediondos.
Sim, estou triste, magoada, revoltada, rancorosa, colérica. Mas sei que nada disto te trará de volta sabendo que aqueles que me apartaram de ti o farão outra vez.
P.S: Se voltarem ao princípio, tirem todos os “não” do texto. O resultado que obtiverem é o que eu vou provavelmente fazer...
Muitas vezes na vida somos obrigados a tomar decisões difíceis. Muitas vezes não queremos tomar essas decisões porque ao as tomarmos, desejaríamos não o ter feito. Eu acabei de tomar a minha.
It’s better to live with half a love than taking chances on losing it all.
O Amor é talvez das forças mais poderosas e complexas que já alguma vez existiu. Todos nós com certeza já o experimentamos nas suas variadas formas.
Há quem fuja por amor, há quem morra por amor, há quem mate por amor... Eu estaria disposta a tudo isto. Por amor.
Mas muitas vezes temos que fugir do Amor porque é errado ou porque simplesmente não pode existir. Eu acabei de o fazer.
Acreditem, custou-me muito mais fazê-lo do que alguma vez imaginei. Sentir as lágrimas a ameaçarem explodir nos meus olhos, o nó na garganta, a respiração ofegante, o bater errático do coração... E pior ainda, ver o sujeito da nossa adoração incondicional mesmo à nossa frente, a desfalecer, como se nós próprios o tivéssemos trespassado com um punhal. Eu também senti essa dor no meu corpo e na minha alma. Senti o ar a escapar dos pulmões quando proferi a nossa sentença: Não nos podemos ver mais.
Disse estas palavras quase sem pinga de sangue no corpo, e voltei as costas porque não suportei ver os olhos perdidos, irados, complacentes que miravam fixamente os meus e penetravam na minha alma.
Senti que me rasgavam ao meio e não voltei atrás. Ainda ouvi o meu nome, um sussurro ensurdecedor ecoava nos meus ouvidos. Disse a mim mesma que não ia olhar para trás. Falhei a minha promessa.
Não consegui. Os mesmos olhos de há pouco, tinham uma expressão plácida, quase de submissão. Não eram olhos enraivecidos nem acusatórios. A culpa não era nossa e nós sabíamos disso perfeitamente.
Eu estava a poucos passos do olhar vazio e quebrado. Parecia que todos os músculos do meu corpo tinham congelado instantaneamente. Eu era um bloco de gelo. Pela última vez senti os seus braços à minha volta, envolvendo-me por completo num cerco de fogo. Senti o corpo estremecer por debaixo da capa de indiferença que tentava manter a todo o custo. Senti que a sua respiração no meu pescoço, me quebrava lentamente. Os seus lábios deslizavam até ao meu ouvido enquanto eu permanecia imóvel. As suas mãos subiam devagar como serpentes numa árvore e só pararam no meu rosto. Ouvi um suspiro apenas.
“Tu serás sempre minha.”
O nó que se encontrava na minha garganta desceu subitamente para ser substituído com um soluço e as lágrimas finalmente cobriam os nossos rostos.
Por cada lágrima, um beijo. Saborear o sal das nossas próprias lágrimas nos lábios de outrem tem algo de catártico, algo malevolamente reconfortante.
Ficamos assim por alguns instantes. Olhos vermelhos, espíritos quebrados e lançados ao deus-dará... Nem uma palavra mais foi proferida. Alguém tinha que ceder.
Eu sai daquele local, sentindo o vulto que ficara para trás de mim prostrar-se pelo chão gritando dentro de si aquilo que eu sentia em mim mesma. Ódio, cólera, impotência, confusão, mágoa, frustração, culpa, angústia, dor, solidão.
Nesse momento dei-me conta que estava só. Finalmente só.
Espero que as mentes podres e doentias que tiveram parte neste conluio de néscios tenham um fim bastante adequado. Diz-se que tudo o que fazemos aos outros, volta para nós a triplicar. É a lei kármica. Espero bem que todos tenham um fim à altura dos seus actos hediondos.
Sim, estou triste, magoada, revoltada, rancorosa, colérica. Mas sei que nada disto te trará de volta sabendo que aqueles que me apartaram de ti o farão outra vez.
P.S: Se voltarem ao princípio, tirem todos os “não” do texto. O resultado que obtiverem é o que eu vou provavelmente fazer...
12 May, 2006
09 May, 2006
Magdalena
Dedico este post à pessoa que sempre esteve comigo quando eu nada lhe pedi em troca. Que no meio da minha tempestade, se mostrou porto seguro, na minha dor foi suave bálsamo para as minhas feridas e no meu amor foi brisa suave que me envolveu por completo.
Para ti.
Para ti.
Overcome by your moving templeovercome by this holiest of altars
so pure, so rare
to witness such a lovely goddess
I lost my self control
beyond compelled to throw this dollar down
before your holiest of altars
I'll sell my soul, my self esteem
a dollar at a time for one chance, one kiss
one taste of you my Magdalena
I've beared witness to this place, this lair, so long forgotten
so pure, so rare, to witness such a lovely goddess
And i'd sell my soul, my self-esteem
a dollar at a time for one chance, one kiss,
one taste of you my black madonna
I'll sell my soul, my self-esteem
a dollar at a time
For one taste, one taste
one taste of you my Magdalena
A Perfect Circle_Magdalena
