Francesca

But it's been a while since you touched them, held them close to your heart;

I miss you with every beat of mine, but I wish I could forget your hands. I wish I could forget you.

I look at my hands and I wonder when I became this, when We became this: 10 minutes chats once a week, even less.

You were my best friend, and now I don't think you know me, at all.

When I was a kid I thought I would hold onto your hands forever, but now, as I look at my hands, alone, in the dark, I see they are cold, small and motherless hands.

The feeling of sinking?

I look around my room. My clothes. My walls. My books. My posters. My body.

None of those are mine.

My thoughts. My words. My movements. My feelings.

None of those are mine.

I look around my room and I try to remember when was the last time it was mine.

Maybe back in my old room. With my old clothes. My old walls. My old books. My old posters. My old body.

When did it stop being mine?

My old thoughts. My old words. My old movements. My old feelings.

I'm sinking. Not drawing, but sinking.

Sinking to the inside of my mind.

My mind.

My mind?

I'm not drawning but I'm not breathing either.

At least not with my lungs.

Glistening skin, pearl eyes, such a mesmerizing sight.

But I've been mesmerized.

And the feeling of flying through the dark night sky lives in my heart.

It's not breath taking anymore and I honestly don't know if I like breathing without gasping for air.

Feathers of passion that fly trough us.

In the heat of the sky:

It comes, enlightening me with the soft breeze, and leaves me untamed, lingering.

Nostalgia. Why must it be such a draining river?

I don't want to get caught in the riptide.

Can I swim back to the past?

away from the train,

away from the ground,

away from the false sense of home.

Too fast to shed a tear, mistaken for the rain that made her dress wet

She screamed, for she could not be heard.

Who would even bother? Hear the agonazing pain from the girl in the wet dress.

The lights must keep on working, connected to the ground, shining for no one.

The hive mind wouldn't stop by to worry about something that not the lights that must keep on working.

minha vida não caminha, corre.

Corre entre a imensidão

Corre pois anseia viver

Corre pois pode

Corre pois cansou de caminhar.

Eu não sei pra onde correr

Só sei que não quero mais parar, me recuso

Pois mesmo que nada exista, mesmo que tudo seja final, eu continuo a correr

Corro pois estou viva

Corro pois a vida me espera, ansiosa para ver até onde chegarei

A poem based on the myth of Icarus and Apollo, the sun.

He fell down the deep sea

Like Icarus, he was naive:

mesmerized by the sight of the bright sun that thieved him from the sky .

I wonder why did Eros shot the arrow trough the boy's heart, for the love was uncalled, unfair and acquiescent, the undeniable cause of the fall.