I love our slow mornings. Making love for breakfast, planning our day together, and only deciding to get up because we are both already starving.
I love our lazy afternoons. Watching movies and series, annoying and playing with each other, and kissing on the couch like there will never be enough cuddling.
I love our early nights. Making love for evening snacks, laughing and talking about all the subjects, and saying goodnight only when we can no longer prevent our eyes from closing.
But mostly, I love how it doesn't matter the time, morning, afternoon or night. As long as we're together in our little bubble, even doing nothing means everything.
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.
How long does it take to forget someone? To forget their eyes, and the way they used to look at you. To forget their lips, and the way they were so soft when they kissed you. To forget their smile, their funny faces, the lines of their features that you traced with your fingers so many times. To forget their voice that you loved so much to hear, and all the sweet things they once told you. To forget how it was to be embraced by them and the way their warmth felt like home. To forget the touch of their skin, to forget their scent, to forget the way you felt at peace for just being beside them. Or... perhaps we don't. Perhaps we can't really forget them, not entirely. Perhaps we only get used to things. To their absence, to those random thoughts about our moments together, to the new life without them. Perhaps we believe that adapting is somehow forgetting. And that one day they'll become like those scars we bring along from childhood: the memory of how we got them are not so vivid anymore, but they're a part of us that will stay forever.
I miss you. Every fucking single day. Time passes by, but nothing seems to change. You're still my first thought when I wake up in the morning, and the last one before I fall asleep at night. And I hate myself for that. I hate myself for thinking about you and missing you, when I shouldn't. After everything that happened, I just wish I could forget you.
But it's like if you're impregnated under my skin and no matter how hard I wash it and scrub it, it just doesn't go away.
Sometimes I have the bad luck of encountering someone wearing your cologne on the street, when entering a store or during my commute to work. It's sudden, like if you had just passed by me. And it's awful, 'cause a simple smell can bring everything up and hurts a fucking lot. After all, you can't put your arms around a scent, you can't touch a memory.
He missed her. The smell, the touch, the way she used to toss her hair. Lying in bed, he would get lost in his own thoughts, replaying his favorite moments beside her, trying to fill the space that she had left in the room, that she had left in himself. She did not know how incredible she was or how she turned everything around her with that smile. For him, there was no scene more beautiful than seeing her in bed in the morning, messy hair, flushed cheeks, daylight reflecting in her eyes. It was like portraying happiness in an image. Not to mention the tuning between them, a connection he had never felt with anyone. The vibration of a message arriving on the phone was the answer he needed. She was the one.
Sentia falta dela. Do cheiro, do toque, do jeito que ela jogava o cabelo. Deitado na cama, ele se perdia nos próprios pensamentos, reprisando os momentos favoritos com ela, tentando preencher o espaço que ela havia deixado no quarto, que ela havia deixado nele. Ela não sabia o quão incrível era ou de como transformava tudo ao redor com aquele sorriso. Para ele, não havia cena mais linda do que ela na cama pela manhã, cabelo bagunçado, bochechas coradas, a luz do dia refletindo em seus olhos. Era como retratar a felicidade em uma imagem. Sem falar na sintonia entre os dois, uma conexão que ele nunca tinha sentido com alguém. A vibração de uma mensagem chegando no celular foi a resposta que ele precisava. Era ela.
Quando a gente entra na fase dos 20 e POUCOS é como se o produtor da nossa vida acelerasse tudo, como naquele episódio do Chapolin e o vampiro, em que ele adianta as horas no relógio de cuco para o dia amanhecer. Dias, meses e anos passam em um ritmo rápido demais, fazendo com que a gente passe a correr também para tentar acompanhar. A gente faz curso, workshop, academia (tenta), inglês, planos e trabalha como um louco. No meio da correria dos 20 e poucos, também existe uma busca e insatisfação que nunca cessa e a gente está sempre procurando alguma coisa, procurando ter, procurando ganhar, procurando.
Mas aí a gente chega nos 20 e TANTOS e, porra, quanta coisa muda! O jeito como a gente enxerga a vida, principalmente. O tempo continua correndo, é verdade, mas a gente se vê mais próximo dos 30 e vai perdendo a pressa. Vai entendendo que as respostas estão dentro da gente mesmo, mas que é preciso parar para ouvir com atenção. É preciso parar. A gente percebe que o universo dá o que a gente busca, então se você não sabe o que está procurando, cara, não vai poder reclamar se ele te der qualquer coisa (ou nada).
Pareciam completamente diferentes, mas as brigas eram exatamente por serem tão iguais. O encontro entre um furacão e um vulcão, por assim dizer. Dois desastres naturais apaixonados, que acharam a felicidade bem ali, entre lavas e redemoinhos. Se num segundo discutiam, no outro estavam na cama. Tudo o que viviam era intenso, sentido na pele. Mas, ao mesmo tempo, era essa explosão de sentimentos que os trazia paz. Eram as faíscas do abraço, o choque do beijo, o calor das mãos. Eram as mensagens que o corpo e a mente enviavam, a todo instante, dando a certeza de que não havia outra pessoa no mundo com quem eles queriam estar.
They seemed to be totally different, but the fights were exactly because they were so alike. The meeting between a hurricane and a volcano, so to speak. Two passionate natural disasters, which found happiness right there, between eruptions and swirls. If in a second they argued, the next minute they were in bed. All that they lived was intense, felt under the skin. But at the same time, it was that explosion of feelings that brought them peace. The sparks of hugs, the shock of kisses, the warmth of hands were the messages that body and mind sent, every moment, giving them the certainty that there was no other person in the world that they wanted to be with.
Atravessou a rua meio apressada, tentando parecer invisível. O bar ficava a poucos metros dali e o coração já havia iniciado o caminho de fuga, querendo sair pela boca. De repente, ela o viu. Encostado com um dos pés na parede, tinha uma das mãos no bolso e a outra no celular. Diminuiu o ritmo dos passos e agradeceu mentalmente à tecnologia, que o faria prestar atenção em outra coisa enquanto ela se aproximava. Já a menos de um metro dele, ele levantou o rosto e a reconheceu. Ela sorriu. Ele também. Ambos entraram no bar. Ela parou no balcão e, enquanto pedia uma cerveja, ele assoprava o cabelo dela, só para pentelhar. Conversaram por alguns minutos, riram, mas era impossível se concentrar de fato. A ansiedade parecia ser palpável. Seu corpo sentia um leve choque elétrico a cada vez que eles se tocavam por acaso e ela tinha que fazer um esforço descomunal para não agarrá-lo a cada vez que a covinha na bochecha dele aparecia. Até que ele ouviu os pensamentos dela, talvez alto demais, e propôs que eles saíssem de lá. Táxi, elevador, portas, roupas jogadas, suspiros, sintonia, um fim que levava a um começo. Havia encontrado um pequeno infinito. Por vezes sentiu-se perdendo a sanidade naquela noite. Por vezes sentiu-se afogar nos olhos dele, naquele misto de azul e verde, que pareciam enxergar muito além do que ela podia dizer. No meio daquela avalanche de sentimentos, decidiu ir embora antes que ficasse presa para sempre no laço daqueles braços. Mas era tarde demais. No caminho de volta para casa, se deu conta: havia esquecido o próprio coração em cima da cama.
She crossed the street in a hurry, trying to be invisible. The pub was a few meters away and her heart had already started the escape route, wanting to get out through her mouth. Suddenly, she saw him. Leaning with one foot on the wall, he had one hand in his pocket and the other on the phone. She slowed down the rhythm and mentally thanked the technology, which would make him focus on something else while she walked towards him. When she was less than a meter away, he looked up and recognised her. He smiled. She did too. They talked for a few minutes, laughed, but it was impossible to concentrate, in fact. The anxiety and anticipation there was almost palpable. Her body could feel a slight electric shock every time they touched each other by accident and she had to make an enormous effort not to grab him every time a cute dimple appeared in his cheek. Finally he seemed to have heard her thoughts, already too loud, and invited her to go somewhere else. Taxi, elevator, doors, clothes thrown, sighs, touches, synchrony. She had found a small infinite in that time and space. His eyes were a mix of blue and green, and seemed able to see her right through. In the middle of a flood of feelings coming to the surface, she decided to leave before she got stuck forever in the knot of his arms. But it was already too late. On the way back home, she realised: she had forgotten her own heart on his bed.
Era tarde, o pub estava cheio e ela já estava cansada de cantadas baratas quando ele apareceu. Mas ao invés de elogios superficiais, ele se ofereceu para pagar uma bebida pedindo que, em troca, ela pudesse conversar um pouco com ele. Parecia uma cilada vinda de um par de olhos claros, mas ele prometeu que a deixaria livre para ir embora no momento em que quisesse. Algum tempo depois, os dois estavam rindo sobre histórias da vida e ela havia notado que a cada vez em que sorria, ele parecia vidrado. Lembrou da infinidade de vezes em que ela ouviu homens-ventríloquo dizerem "você tem um sorriso bonito", apenas numa tentativa de se aproximar dos lábios dela. Mas ele não.
A comissária de bordo avisou que estávamos em território irlandês. Íamos aterrissar em alguns minutos e o frio na barriga começou a crescer. O comandante liberou o som de uma rádio no avião e Mumford & Sons começou a cantar "I will wait, I will wait for you...". Meu coração apertou, senti vontade de chorar. Eu estava deixando tanta coisa pra trás, mas ainda carregava o peso de tudo comigo...família, amigos, amores, rotina, sentimentos e significados de coisas que fazem a gente ser o que é. Tentei pensar que aquela música que me invadia era um conselho amigo da Irlanda, dizendo que não importava o que acontecesse, eu tinha para onde voltar.
E como foi difícil começar aqui. Mil e um perrengues impensáveis, choque cultural, dificuldade no sotaque, disputa surreal por casa, empregos escassos, comida sem gosto, dias cinzentos que terminavam às 4 da tarde, vontade de ir embora. Dia a dia eu vivia um misto de sentimentos que variavam enlouquecidamente entre o quero ou não ficar em Dublin. Mas, sem eu perceber, cada momento bom virava uma semente. Sem eu perceber, cada sorriso verdadeiro fazia saltar raízes minhas, que iam se amarrando em vários pontos da ilha esmeralda. Quando me dei conta, já havia um pouco da Agatha de sempre em tudo o que existia por aqui. A Irlanda tinha virado, de fato, a minha nova casa.
Quatro meses se passaram e muita, muita coisa aconteceu. Dentro e fora de mim. Vi paisagens de tirar o fôlego, me encontrei com a tão sonhada neve, bebi as melhores cervejas do mundo e conheci pessoas incríveis que vou levar pra vida toda. Mas também senti medo inúmeras vezes, convivi com decepções em série, vi promessas serem quebradas e tive que deletar projetos e pessoas da vida pra poder seguir em frente. Mesmo assim, em todas essas experiências, tive uma série de encontros legítimos comigo mesma. Ensinamentos extremos e perdas e ganhos imensuráveis fizeram eu descobrir uma força que nem eu achei que eu tinha. Hoje dá pra dizer que eu tô honrando o meu signo...hoje eu sou mesmo um leão.
E tudo isso junto mudou o tipo do aperto no peito, é claro. Se antes eu tinha dúvidas sobre querer ficar, hoje a angústia é por estar cada vez mais próximo da volta. Porque se tivesse como resumir esse intercâmbio e a mudança de rumo louca que a vida da gente dá, eu poderia comparar com estar vivendo em um parque de diversões. Tem brinquedo que leva a gente pro alto, tem brinquedo que é uma grande queda, tem brinquedo que machuca ou que assusta, tem brinquedo que faz gritar e tem brinquedo que dá um prazer tão foda que nunca nem imaginamos que fôssemos viver algo do tipo...E é essa mistura de todas as sensações, do frio na barriga à felicidade, que faz tudo valer a pena. Sempre.
"Now I'll be bold, as well as strong...Use my head alongside my heart" / "Agora eu serei corajoso, assim como forte...Usarei minha cabeça junto com o coração" (Mumford & Sons - I Will Wait)
"I'm not gonna get involved with anyone anymore", she said. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror, trying to believe those words. How many times had she promised herself that it was the last time? She started to laugh. There was always new people out there, new stories, new experiences. No matter how cold her heart could get or how thick her armour would be. Sooner or later, she knew, a smile would tell her what was about to come. And before she could even notice, a kiss would bring a special message to her rational self: it's worth the risk. One last time.
Video Games & Software LQA Tester, Journalist, Translator, and Photography enthusiast. Found of tattoos. Pizza lover. Brazilian by mother, Portuguese by father and Irish by heart. Talking a lot since 1988.
