About the shells, the pearls and memories

All loves are empty shells, all hearts are broken one day. But, when we find someone to lay on our side and count stars with us, it's like a pearl sprung inside the shell and made us forget about dark and lonely. I know you're afraid and I also am, but life came to be lived and if one day someone steals your pearl, you must have a certainty: you won't die and when you less expect, another pearl springs.
Our love is stupid, but it's good. Those who chose to hide from it for security don't hurt themselves, it's a fact, but also never count stars at dawn nor, in the end of life, have a necklace of memories to tell.

Inadequate

January 1st, 05h00 a.m.

Look at the time.

Was this my gift?

An insomnia and an uneasy stomach, taking the pains of my heart that refuses to go through this again. The fear of facing a "new year" not so happy, of facing a "new year" not so easy, of facing a "new year" with no love.

I'm sorry, my dear, it's not your choice. Wine and pillows on hand: Here we go.

Between a sob and another, there is always a break for breathing.

Wish ME a happy 2011.

Partida

HÁ EXATOS 9 ANOS ELA PARTIA.

SINTO SUA FALTA, MÃEZINHA... OBRIGADA POR TUDO! ESTEJA BEM! OLHE POR MIM.

The mask in me

How much of ourselves is tame for us to become socially acceptable?
They say I'm a nice girl. I am intelligent and make friends easilly. But who is friendly and intelligent? Myself or the mask of me that I allow others to see?
They tell me I need to learn how to play. That I expose myself too much. That my feelings are always visible to anyone, and that if I want to relate to someone I need to learn not to expose myself. But the life I live without saying who I am is really mine or the one who someone imposes to me?
I want to declare my hatred, say my loves, exposing my soul. What would they do with it? Who would judge me? Those who are playing, or the people inside the players? I think that, on our own will, we have became pawns on a chessboard where few are those that determine the movements. And if someone does not abide by the condition of a pawn, it becomes a person who we admire. Why, then, we are pawns?
It is dawn and those are the thoughts that are making me turn and turn in bed before falling asleep. What does make us stand in line of the pre-set conduct instead of making us live by own will? We all have monsters inside us, and these need to be shackled lest, this way we won´t lose ourselves. But we have dreams too. What does make we arrest them?
If I love, I want to declare. If I hate, why pretending? I am tired of hearing "do not call him, you can't show you want him, because he will despise you." Sincerity, today, is judged as weakness. And it's true: we are punished for acting as the heart tells us. The council of not exposing is the demonstration of true friendship. But what is the veracity of a feeling that can not be declared, as if it is, won't be, obligatorily, corresponded?
I get tired of being human. I get tired of thinking. I get tired of playing. The evolution of the intellect takes us away from what makes us a creature of nature. Everything is game, everything has a second intention. What does life worth living disguising? On the other hand, what does bleeding inside is worth when what we can expect from the other is dissimulation? 'Cause we move so much in schemes we lose ourselves inside our own movements on the board. I'm afraid we can not start over. Or, if we succeed, would we knowhow to repeat the items and avoid what was considered wrong?
How many times I was criticized for that one phone call I've given or the message I've sent. I acted on impulse. "Impulse" term to become acceptable to others what, by definition, you should not have done. But why shouldn't I?.
Love me, hate me. If I can't be true to myself, how can I be with others? And if they don't want I get authentic and I relate to me as I am, what does the relationships and the living are worth?
I'm tired. Too tired. Maybe talking too much. Maybe thinking too much. But what would that be? Another reason to explain why I think as I think?

Bittersweet

She is a girl with no delicate poses, smiles not discreet and a mysterious look. She looks like a spoiled girl, has a touch of whimsy, a sensitive of a flower, a charming way of being, a touch of intuition and a tone of sweetness. She reflects lilac, a bright of a star, a restlessness, a lonely of an artist and an air of a wise scientist. She is intense and has a mania for feeling completely, for loving completely and being completely. Inside of her there is a foolish heart, which is always capable of loving and trusting again. She as that sweet taste of romantic girl and that sour taste of modern woman.

Falling in love again

And then I got that the point is that I live in love, and this way it must be...

In love for falling in love, for knowing and discovering, for revealing the intricacies that take you over your own reason, that take you beyond the second of reticences that permeates your audacious words. I fall in love for watching you revealing yourself, shy and bold, using expressions that make you blush, thinking about things you don't imagine thinking; but you do, and that alows you to conduce your fingers over your body, your pudency, 'till reaching  the keys of which, like me, you may have. But your propriety and furor transform you, letter by letter, and so they tell me, the fingers, where they had been, what they had seen, what they had done and what they don't want me to know, ever! I fall in love for watching you abandoning yourself in your own, delivering yourself with no reservations, no masks, no right terms... I fall in love for watching you unabashed and provocative, cruel, playing with me even aware, that you already are, beforehand, the winner.

 I fall in love for imagining where you are, and what you think about. I fall in love for thinking what touch your lips now: if other portion of lunch, if your softness of one more sip of wine, if the pen that follows your criativity.

I fall in love for being on your wait in the end of the day, not needing to say if mine was tiring or not, because, afterall, you'll come: and seen your smile, trying your smell, felling your touch, there is nothing else that matters to me.

So I hear you, and whatever is sharing the events or any other fact, I make myself as a partner and realize, again, why you are the one that completes me, and I ask myself why I am your choice.

And then I get that the point, about any other thing, is you.

While for me, it is only, surrendered, falling in love again.

Where is the problem?

It's them or me? 

That see everything fuzzy, death and uncolored?

Almost skeptically?

It's them or me?

That have the views disturbed by the clear

and run away scared from movement?

Are we or just me?

That see the world this way

with no protruding beginnings

genial ways

and happy endings?

So, let's try in an other way

Make up a new face

a new base, for now

a new fashion

let's cheer what ain't come

for them to come

and blossom

and make the day smile, who knows...

Let's forget what happened

to end

and blow my will

in yours, that I know, exists!