It's true when they say that the most beautiful things can happen when you least expect it. Because I wasn't looking for anything when I met you. I wasn't planning on falling for anyone so soon. But our connection was different from everything I had experienced before. You brought instant joy into my life. You gave me something special, warm, soothing, whole. You became my best friend, and it felt like no matter the paths we could've taken, our beautiful encounter would've happened anyway. As if the universe already knew we needed to find each other. As if the universe already knew that holding your hand in mine would change our story forever.


I know it can be hard to believe sometimes, but you will find love again. And this time, I hope you are loved back the way you deserve.

I hope that someone loves you as deep and passionate as you are. With the same intensity you do. With the same affection you give.

I hope that someone loves you so attentively that your whole being is seen. That no detail is ignored. That no scar is left unnoticed.

I hope that someone loves everything about you that others didn't appreciate. So no laugh can feel too loud. So no traits can feel too foolish.

I hope that someone loves you so closely that they can see the constellations in your eyes. Read the novels written on your skin. Navigate the oceans in your soul.

And I hope that this time someone loves you whole, holding you so tight that all your broken pieces will finally stick back together.


It was a curious mix of feelings. She felt comfortable enough around him, but at the same time timid in a way that she couldn't explain – nor control, as the smile would just keep coming to the surface. "Maybe that was how the 'butterflies in the stomach' sort of thing used to be", she thought. It had been such a long time since anyone made her feel anything that she just forgot how it was. He put his arm around her, and being that close made her notice for the first time that his eyes were like blue diamonds. The sunlight reflected on them, and she wondered if he knew that the sun wasn't the only thing shining bright that day.


He was the most genuine person she had met in a while. Sure they had a lot in common, but that usually wasn't too hard to find... Someone real though, that it was. He had a good sense of humour, wasn't afraid of being open about things, but also seemed shy at times, taking a sip of his pint to hide a nervous smile - what she thought it was cute. Even though there is always a bit of awkwardness on first dates, talking to him was effortless enough, and for a moment she even forgot they were at a pub, for being too immersed in what he was saying. As she walked home, she thought about how good a storyteller he was, and that, maybe, just maybe, a new character was being added to her own tale.


It is common to feel that we are not enough. Very often we feel the need to be more, to be greater, to live up to someone's expectations. But with you, strangely, I felt like I was too much. What I considered my strengths before, suddenly became my flaws. Like a volcano that was forced to sleep because you couldn't deal with my eruption, I had to try to be smaller to fit into your world. I felt like I was too strong for you, because you were trembling. My walk felt like running, because you couldn't keep up. Worried that my laugh was too loud for you, I ignored that I was losing my will to smile. You wished for a river and didn't notice I was the ocean. You wanted a star and didn't see I was a full moon. Looking back, I realised that the moments you made me feel high were only because you had me too low, and now I can finally see... that losing you was what I needed in order to find me.


She opened the messy drawer in her bedroom and started looking for a Band-Aid for her finger. She had cut herself while chopping onions and, even though it was just superficial, it stung like never before. Batteries, pens, Post-it notes, key chain, hair clips... She was about to give up on finding anything in the middle of all that junk, when she saw the shape of a tiny bag of first aid kit at the very back. She stretched her arm a little to reach it, but hesitated for a second, when she realized that underneath it was an envelope marked with a heart. "Would that be...but I threw them all away" she thought, as she sat on the bed and started to open the envelope slowly. "Oh no...". The envelope was full of photographs that had, somehow, survived when she moved houses. She took a deep breath, as if inhaling all the air she could before jumping into the sea, and pulled the pictures out. The first one was of him, which she took during one of their trips together. He was wearing the sun glasses and plaid flannel shirt she was so fond of. Then a photo of the two of them laughing. A photo of them walking on the beach. A photo of a hug. A photo of a kiss. They had been separated for months now, but suddenly it was as if she could feel his presence there. She threw herself back, lying on the bed. She remembered his smell, his touch, how she liked to fit in his arms. "Shit..." she said under her breath. She got up and walked towards the trash can, to get rid of the last printed memories. When she closed the lid though, she realised that the story about our brain only being able to pay attention to one pain at a time was the absolute truth. She had completely forgotten about the cut on her finger until that moment. And now the only thing she wished she had was a Band-aid that also worked for her heart.


Abriu a gaveta da bagunça no quarto e começou a procurar um Band-Aid para o dedo. Tinha se cortado picando cebola e, embora tivesse sido bem superficial, ardia como nunca. Pilhas, canetas, post-it, chaveiro, prendedor de cabelo... Já estava desistindo de encontrar qualquer coisa no meio da tralha, quando viu o formato do saquinho de curativos lá no fundo. Esticou um pouco o braço para alcançar, mas hesitou por um segundo, quando percebeu que embaixo dele havia um envelope marcado com um coração. "Será que... mas eu joguei todas fora." pensou, enquanto sentava na cama e abria o envelope devagar. "Ah, não...". O envelope estava cheio de fotografias que, de alguma forma, haviam sobrevivido à mudança de casa. Respirou fundo, como quem toma fôlego antes de pular no mar, e puxou as fotos para ver. A primeira era dele, que ela mesma tirou em uma das viagens que fizeram juntos. Ele usando os óculos escuros e a camisa de flanela xadrez que ela tanto gostava. Foto dos dois rindo. Foto dos dois andando praia. Foto de um abraço. Foto de um beijo. Já estavam separados há meses, mas de repente foi como se ela pudesse sentir a presença dele ali. Se jogou para trás, deitando na cama. Lembrou do cheiro dele, do toque, de como ela gostava de caber naquele abraço. "Merda..." disse baixinho. Levantou e foi em direção à lixeira, para se livrar das últimas memórias impressas. No entanto, quando fechou a tampa, se deu conta de que a história sobre nosso cérebro conseguir prestar atenção apenas em um machucado por vez era a mais pura verdade. Tinha esquecido completamente do corte no dedo até aquele momento. E agora tudo o que mais queria era que existisse um Band-Aid que funcionasse para o coração.

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