Writer, photographer, musician

the observation is its motto The analysis its way of life The silence of its method. I learnt with him beyond the visible to doubt of what is in the surface seek the depts the hidden

The silence united us  I do not fear, as he respects me enough to share with me his silence

He doesn’t speak much. His compliments are gestures simple, rare, but filled me with pride, as those would take him out of passivity

not passivity, immobility.

He looks, analises create concepts but he does not act

He gives us his opinion and asks: And now, what would you do? the choice is mine, not his.

In a world where everything was right perfect? Maybe... But the masks fell down the reality has show its face and took over the silence as if it had bee always mine.

What could I do? I could not speak. I was too small I could not act You do not know what you are doing

But I trusted in him

God knew all possibilities we chose one God knows its end.

Our choices shape our lives our thoughts But, what if we are not given the chance of choosing What if the choices have already been done

A marked card dek which pushes us down to its mold and we should accept it unconditionally

Be the Best Aliteration of bilabial consonants Also the motto of my existence It does not matter how much I am never able to reach the expectations More, More, More You should have done more

I do not know if all poets when they write what they think if they think about us who read and study them, and what we see in their verses.

As  I write these lines with eyes blurred with tears wishing I could have done something about my silence and doing nothing.

I wish I could scream at you but I can’t As I rely on him as much as I rely on you.

I delivered all responsibility in your hands Followed the rules And now I do not know who I am I know I am not what you wanted me to be They wished me to be a lawyer hehe... I’m sorry, I have studied Humanities I became a lover of arts and music

You ran away from my concerts and, but she doesn’t even goes to them,  she complains of the songs I listen and  tells me me they have something to do with Satan as they enter in your mind and can’t ever leave.

I know I am not what I wanted to be a secure person, strong, well educated and with good manners In my worse moments, I am downright rude And the worse ist that sometimes I do not even notice But my friends comment it and I ask their forgiveness feeling useless for noticing it before

What is the point of curiosity, inteligence, If I can’t remember of saying please when needed?

Years ago, when seeking some identity, i identified myself with a dry fig tree.

Full of leaves, full body, but no fruit Wasn’t it the right time? Wasn’t it the right season?

Even then Jesus, when he did not find fruit, he ordered it to dry up. Will it happen with me?

I’m afraid of the future that awaits me in each step I take, every move I make and every decision I postpone.

I’ve chosen the comfortable way of life that bothers me because I’m aware that insults me.

I feel like I’m always waiting for something to happen. Something that never comes.

Maybe my father’s promotion, maybe a steady job for my mother.

I really don’t know.

Giba today said that “we shall walk with the truth”. 

Everyone is blessed with God’s gifts. One sings, one plays, another writes poems. I don’t know what is waiting for me in the final fork of my life, where I’m supposed to decide whether I go to the left or to the right.

I don’t know what exists in the end of each path. But maybe I’m asking the wrong questions.

I’m supposed to ask if I’ll be able to reach the end of our path. If the weather will be for or against us, which wrong turn will lead us somewhere unexpected.

Who will we meet along the path we’re going.

Whose lives will be changed by our presence and whose souls will touch our souls.

U;vealways felt this need to be the best.

If I couldn’t do it, at least be among the top ten.

But the empty feeling doesn’t go away.

The flattery doesn’t answer my questions neither pacifies my insecurity.

Only the pen is my friend, and God is someone who I am afraid of being under His complete control.

Oh God, I was supposed to be...

That’s the problem. Only supposed to be something.

The fauld is all mine. I’m the one who sets up too high standards and when I can’t reach them I feel shitty.

I have faith in you but I don’t know what to do.

Please make me a new creature, oh Gd, a new vase in your hands.

Do not let me without your Holy Spirt and please forgive me for my cockyness and pride.

These are only dreams. Castles build in clouds. I want to believe in You. In your power.

Talk to me in my dreams and teach me to listen to your voice. I know you’re always speaking, but I can’t listen.

You’re speaking, but I am too busy crying over stupid dreams.

That’s weird.

My mom ask me to make changes and when I try to do them, she criticizes my efforts and burn up my hopes.

At first I was afraid of being with Paty here at home, with all our problems and all, but this week I felt as... There could be hope. She has brought solace and patience to my parents, and kept them calm, not bothering me.

And it’s good to have someone to talk to.

It’s even weirder to have someone to share my thoughts. Someone of my age. Maybe that’s it. My parents are afraid her coming will change the status quo, but I want these changes.

What really has taken me aback was the news that Neide and Ju were surprised by my offer to Pat.

But I still think there are second intentions here. Just because Pat accepted kindly by D’s family, and Juliana still isn’t. She is not happy with my offer of shelter ot Paty. Mom told me it’s not a wise decision because she has income to support a place near USP, and she doesn’t want problems with Neide.

She wants me to decide but in the end it is her decision. This was an experience period. I’m not even sure of what she thinks of me. Probably she thinks I’m a selfish bad dressed chick who just happens to be her friend’s cousin.

Or maybe she thinks of me a little more highly.

I don’t know.

I think it’s up to her to decide.

I just wish my mom saw this as my effort to give her someone to look after because I’m her. She may have not noticed. But I had to.

I just don’t want her to be alone. To be alone as I feel.

I don’t think it’s a fair choice to be made. But who said life is fair? I don’t want to be forced to choose. Right now I feel too insecure to make such kind of decision.

I want someone to talk to me.

Someone who has dreams and fears as me, and who won’t see me as the geek everybod like to rotulate me.

I’m not tired of pretending I’am not insecure before people. I can’t always be the rock that they see.

Sometimes I just want to be myself. But I’m just allowed to be myself in my fantasyland, where the world is ruled by Magic and Good always defeats Evil.

And where I’m loved deeply by a handsome brilliant man. A place where I am always sure of my choices, and where I’m someone different of the person I am now.

I’m just a pale figure of a woman I am in my dreams. There I am fearless, never speaks too much, or babble. And usually I am orphan there.

Only Freud is able to explain it.

My family are those who protect me from getting hurt more than I am already hurt.

Ice, the cold darkness covered the naked land, which one day once florished a spark life. A depressive silence substituted it. The chains of time have stayed still, and the flicker of of all life seems to have been extinguished. 

A small number of forms wandered through the somber forests, its shadows were endless and impenetrable, dragging those pour souls to the deepest areas in the wet claws.

Those were the last survivors of the Saragorn nation. They were once members of a proud and shiny empire, which was haunted by darkness legions, which had prevailed and thus ran that civilization to the ground, destroying it completely. 

Their houses had been stolen and now they blindly wander in the darkness, with nothing but their memories of their glorious days.

Crawling down dangerous paths after many moons, they found heralds of ligth, riding their powerful horses, and were surrounded by warmth and fire.

“The son of all light,” the heralds shouted, “one day will be delivered and a shining star will appear showing the way for a harmonious and fertile land, which is beyond the horizon.”

And with fear they predicted a long journey of sacrifice, danger and fear, through the emptyness and darkness followed by the evil legions. In this some place in the endless lost souls, they needed to find the stone stairs. In the end of those stairs the gate would take them to a new world.

***

The Rubi of Sargorn, the holy stone, the source of life of the empire, was lost. Wise men kept it safe for generations, it had saved them from evil legions, it was revealing its magic powers.

It whispered the future of the people of Saragorn.

In this vision, they would be an oasis of peace, giving them a sense of warmth and security, which emanates from their veins as warm breeze whispering stories of freedom and fraternity.

A bit of laughter spread through them, as they felt a breath of life in their skins.

And in that tiny moment they had warm and brilliant eyes, but immediately, and their eyes became blurry and the vision slowly disappeared.