Before I met you

They say being a writer is, in itself, an act of bravery. It's standing in a crowd and shouting "hear me! for I have something to say". In this sense, I've always been a romantic writer.

Friends used to tell me, "Save your dignity. Have some self respect. Why put yourself down for a woman? Soon she won't even remember what you said."

Not many people have read my words. I do not care. I put thoughts into words not for them, but for me. I was grateful for the love and the heartbreak, the sweet memories and the bitter ones. My heart does not speak because it needs to be heard, just because it has something to say.

There's a song that makes me cry every time I listen to it. At first, because it reminded me of a love that was lost. Every time after that, because I knew I would never love that way again.

But that was before I met you.

It's been a while since my voice last trembled. I've grown older. Calmer. Numb. There's a deep sense of gloom in peace for people like me.

But that was before I met you.

I used to  sit on my kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey. Listening to my heart, trying to find something worth putting on paper. I used to smoke cigarette after cigarette out on the balcony, staring at the darkness between the stars, wondering if that's where words go when they're left unspoken. Mourning the blank peace of paper on the kitchen table.

But that was before I met you.

I was often drunk back then. And I often cried. Life was full of colors, mostly dark but varied. Blue and green, my favorites. Blue eyes, green and brown. I used to look into them and search for love. Then I'd give it up or have it taken from me. Either way I'd cry. I'd write a letter and pin it to the wall. I was often dying back then. And often lonely. But mostly, alone. I'd pick up my bag and leave, just to find me drunk and dancing on some beach once the smoke cleared. Once I stayed for five years. Drunk and dancing on a beach somewhere out east  for five whole years. I used to hide from the cops back then, and carry my guitar everywhere with me. I used to play and sing in front of people who didn't want to hear me sing. Silence is overrated. I'd drink and laugh with old friends. I used to have friends back then. Now they're old friends at most. That's something people say when they get old. "My old friend". It means they're not your friend any longer, but you're still fond of the memories. I was so proud of my memory, I never took any photos. "I'd rather pay attention and remember this", I used to say.

But that was before I met you.

I have a picture of you I keep in my wallet, with the light kissing your shoulders, the way I used to do. The way I got used to. I stare at the back of your head and feel your scent again. And your taste of lychee and ice.

But that was before you left.

Now you can't hear me, but I still have something to say. I want to say thank you. For finding me. For giving me the kind of love I thought I would never feel again. And I want to tell you how much I love your eyes, your lips, your neck and your tits. Just like the song.

"And somehow communicate some of the overwhelming, undying, overpowering, unconditional, all-encompassing, heart enriching, mind expanding, ongoing, never-ending love I have for you."

Green

And it's one of those moments, when she's telling you about her old house in college with the 3 a.m. pancakes and the book she wrote about it. She's sitting next to you looking around distracted while telling you about the drunk man with a pig's tongue in his mouth and it's crazy and gross but you wanna hear the rest of it, and you look at her right in the face hoping she'll look at you distracted while she sips her cappuccino machiatto.

And you wish she'd finish so you can head back up the mountain and across the forests and the highways and the rivers and the broken trees, but instead she'll finish and roll a cigarette she won't be allowed to smoke in the car so she'll smoke out in the cold and the wind that freezes your ears but only makes her shiver a bit, tough. 

And you wish she'd continue looking around distracted while she tells you the story about the wild horses in that village with the weird name, but instead you just look at her pout her lips and blow smoke smoothly, wishing one day she'll leave you covered in red lipstick stains too, and now you're both wondering what bees do in winter before crossing the street to head home because there's laundry to be picked up. 

And then you're cruising through unknown streets pissing of all the other drivers behind you, but you just wanna enjoy a few more seconds of her and her voice and her crazy beautiful eyes and tell her more of those ghost stories you loved when you were a kid., but then you're just parking the car and looking at her picking up her stuff and saying goodbye and you wish this goddamn armrest wasn't in the way so you could reach over and try catch a whiff of her hair, but instead she's opening the door and picking up her stuff and saying see you soon, but you don't know, who knows. 

And it's just that.

A seven hour romance in 3 acts

Prologue

The first time I saw her was like getting hit by a truck. I didn't expect to witness that kind of beauty so close, I was immediately disarmed. I had lied to her friend just to keep her away. But as soon as she sat down next to me, the single fact of her existence called my bluff. Minutes later I was declaring my undying love to her. She laughed and I loved her laugh.

I spent the night trying to be funny just to hear her laugh again. Those little explosions of pure happiness filled me up and made me walk on air. We held hands and for some reason, I closed my eyes and sensed her scent. It imprinted on me and I loved her scent. There was music and we danced. Our bodies touched and I loved her body. Then she kissed me and I loved her lips.

Act 1

As I walked to meet her the next day, my heart was pounding. I wanted to run just to get to her faster but instead, I got lost. When I finally found her she smiled at me and I loved her smile. I spent all my energy trying to act normal and not say something dumb. But I did and she didn't care. Instead she laughed and I loved her laugh again.

She did this thing with her lips whenever I came on to her. I swore to her I had never seen anything like it. She did it again and I loved her lips again.

She told me I bit her the night before and left a mark. She forgave me and I loved her forgiveness. She reminded me of all the things I had forgotten and I promised to remember them this time. We walked through the streets of Prague and I felt like we were in a movie. She held on to my arm while we paced the bridge. There were musicians playing "I fall in love too easily", how fucked up is that? I had been waiting and hoping and looking and chasing this feelings for so long but of course it couldn't be real. Maybe a distorted reality is just a necessity for me to feel free nowadays. Life just ain't like that.

Act 2

The last time I saw her things were a little different. Every time I told her I loved her she looked away and seemed sad. I wanted to hold her and let her know without words that everything was gonna be alright. She was just tired.

For her, being at peace was just enough. I was fed up with peace; I wanted war. I wanted to fight, get beaten up, break down in tears, shout I love you in the middle of a crowd, follow love wherever it would take me. Give it all and lose it all. Have nothing but love.

She ordered pineapple on our pizza and a side of fries, I told the italians at the next table to go fuck themselves. She laughed and I loved her laugh again.

We shared a cigarette and I loved the taste of her lips again.

I told her I loved her many times. And I know I don't, but I kinda do. Wasn't I there? Didn't I stay just to be with her, even if it was just for a single day? She said maybe I do and that made me sad. So maybe I do.

She held on to my arm again and I loved her again.

Act 3

I dragged my bag back to the train station, cursing those fucking sidewalks all the way. I bought a pack of cigarettes and I smoked looking at the pictures we took.

I stood there staring at the void and I could barely stand. All that fire and love I had experienced burnt a hole in my soul, violently consuming itself and slowly disappearing. There was an empty space where the love should have been. No hate either, no despair. I didn't know I would feel this way when I walked into this life. Happiness was supposed to be happy. If I had to love anyone, why couldn't it be her?

I closed my eyes and heard her laugh and I loved her again.

Then the train started rolling and I sat there staring out the window into the darkness.

Epilogue

In the larger scheme of things, however, my life is no longer just mine. My adventures are sugar coated and I only give in to despair on my spare time. I barely cry anymore, even as I remember her asking me to come see her again and me saying yes even though I knew I wouldn't.

I wanted to drink and get high. Get in a fight. Get arrested and thrown in jail. I wanted to spend the whole night remembering her and writing about her so I could keep the promise I made her.
But it's almost midnight and I need to pick up my kids tomorrow. Life starts again tomorrow. And that might be just fine.

Red Veneer

I'll tell you something I regret.
I regret not leaving her so I could be with you.
I wish I had.
I would have loved you so much.
I would have been happy just loving you.
Instead I sit at night and remember all the time you spent next to me.

A new someone is here now and there's no one else to leave.
She carved her name onto the red veneer of my soul.
There's nothing else now.
I could love her so much.
I would be happy just loving her.
Instead I sit now and remember all the time I spent next to her.

I wait for the cold to end, so I can do it again.
I don't regret any longer.

Todo

Encontrarte fue como soñar. Un sueño de hadas y duendes y árboles grises y altos y viejos que susurran sabiduría con la voz que les da el viento al soplar entre sus copas. Tu pelo refleja  la luna pero tus ojos brillan con luz propia.

Criatura del bosque, ser elemental. Te detuviste tímida entre la gente y miraste alrededor; te sentaste a mi lado y renací. Por las calles de piedra o los caminos de tierra, los colores vibran surreales y tu risa acaricia mi alma. Entre tus sábanas, tu piel acaricia la mía. Tu abrazo me sostiene.

Ninfa del agua, diosa de nieve. Te mueves suave como flotando. Me abriste tu alma pero no tus labios. Mi anhelo invade cada palabra que suspiro en tu oído. Cierro mis ojos y tu santa esencia llena mis pulmones. Mi anhelo se derrama sobre ti, arranco tus ropas y venero tu cuerpo.

Abrí mi pecho y te entregué mi corazón ensangrentado. Con una canción mágica curaste sus heridas. Quiero beber de tu boca, embriagarme de ti. Mis ojos son ciegos pero te buscan como los ríos el mar. Quiero plantar vida en tus tierras.

Háblame, diosa. Tu voz resuena en cada rincón de mi ser. Mírame. Lee en mí las cosas que no sé decir. Voy a construir un templo de barro a tu alrededor y las hadas y duendes vendrán a darte regalos de madera y sal.

Mi alma se refleja en la tuya y es bella. Tu historia se refleja en la mía y es nuestra. Tu luz llena mi oscuridad y es paz. Tanto amor para dar y es tuyo.

Para ti, todo.

Dame colores

voy a pintar un cuadro que diga en un rincón bajito y sin que lo escuches que no quiero que te vayas nunca.

First, last.

- Do you still remember her?
- Yes.
- I mean, do you still think about her?
- Yes, often.
- Do you remember what she looks like?
- I remember the last look she gave me.
- What look was that?
- Disappointment.
- Why?
- I guess she hoped I was a bigger man than I really am.
- I see.
- Do you?
- Most of my customers like to talk, too, you know.
- So what do you think?
- You liked it when it was fun. Once it got too serious, you didn't dare make a choice.
- ...That sounds about right.
- Don't feel too bad, you're restricted by your gender.
- Bullshit.
She lit a cigarette.
- Describe her to me.
- Hazelnut eyes, silky brown hair, milky white skin.
- You're such a romantic.
- I remember her perfume. Her scent, I mean. And her lips, the way they moved when she spoke.
- Can you still hear her?
He couldn't help but smile.
- Yeah.
- Yeah? What does she say?
- She says Hi. And then she hugs me and kisses my cheek. Tells me she missed me and how good it is to see each other again.
- What's she wearing?
- A sundress. Dark blue. Sunglasses on the top of her head.
- What are her shoes like?
- I'm not really a shoes kind of man.
- I'm just fucking with you.
She reached for another cigarette while he walked over to the corner where his pants lied neatly on a chair, picked them up, opened up his wallet and paid her.
- I guess we're done then.
- Stay. Finish your story.
- I wasn't aware I was telling one.
- Oh sweetie, we all are.
- May I put on my pants?
- Please do, nobody wants to see that thing.
- I thought you'd be comfortable around cocks by now.
- I meant the whole thing -she gestured at him, laughing, cigarette in mouth.
- I guess you don't have to be nice once you're off the clock.
- I'm just teasing - she shrugged -. Tell me about your first kiss.
- Summer night, spirits bar, cigarette break, she asked me to kiss her.
- She did not.
- Well, she implied it. And let me tell the story, you weren't even there.
- So we're telling a story now?
- We all are, aren't we?
- Go on.
- She was in a bad place, feeling bad about her life and she made some mistakes.
- What kind of mistakes?
- The kind we try to keep quiet. But she was telling me all about them.
- Interesting.
- I understood how she felt, I was in a similar place myself. I wanted to help her feel better and I offered a regular-above-the-waist hug. Then she said I could even try a non-regular hug. I didn't catch what she meant right away.
- Of course you didn't -she laughed.
- You wouldn't have either, you're just inferring it from context now.
- Back to the story.
- I said okay and I hugged her. I held her tight and breathed her in. It was energizing. I felt happy for the first time in months.
- That's sweet.
- Actually, that's not true. I felt happy every time I saw her smile or made her laugh. Or whenever she complimented me or called me dude. And every single time it felt like an eternity had happened since the last time I felt that way. Since the last time I saw her smile, the last time I made her laugh. It made me crave her.
- That's intense.
- Fuck yeah it is. Then... -he smiled.
- Then what?
- I felt her head moving towards me, moving back, I mean. I felt her face searching for my face. Her mouth searching for mine. And I felt her crave me.
- And then you kissed her.
- And then I kissed her. It was a sweet kiss. Tender. But it made my heart race. Hers was probably fine, with all that cardio.
- Was she smiling, afterwards?
- No.
- So you're not good at kissing, either?
- Hilarious. She considered it another mistake. She called herself a whore.
- That little shit. Saying it like it's a bad thing.
- Don't talk about her like that.
- You have to work for that name. I take offense.
- Are you done?
- What about the last time you saw her?
- I already told you about the look.
- How did you get there?
He laughed angrily.
- I've asked myself that question a million times.
- What is the answer?
- There isn't one.
- What was she wearing?
- Jeans and a jacket. Small purse.
- Are you a purse kind of man?
- I hadn't seen her in months. I wanted to memorize her. All of her. All the details.
- Tell them to me.
- I can't. I couldn't do it. As soon as she said why she was there, it all started falling apart.
- Why was she there?
- To say good bye.
- Did she?
- She did. I refused to believe it, but she meant it. She always meant things. Fuck. I tried to make jokes and have a pleasant last evening together, but that's not what she wanted. She didn't want a last night with me.
- You little shit.
- I walked her to her place. I held her hand all the time feeling I had no right to do so. I wanted to have her in my arms, on my skin, make it last forever.
- Forever never lasts.
- Forever lasted the 5 minute walk. We reached her place and she stood on the threshold. And I looked at her and she looked so beautiful, and she looked so sad, and I was so desperate knowing I would never see her again. Then I tried to kiss her.
- And then she gave you that look.
- And then she gave me that look.
- You little shit.
- It aches me, knowing that's the last memory I have of her. It aches me, knowing that's the last memory she has of me.
- You never saw her again?
- After that night, she disappeared. I looked everywhere. Couldn't find her. She made good on her promise.
- She really meant it.
- She always meant things.
- Fuck. -her phone rang- Sweetie, you have to go now.
He picked up the rest of his clothes and walked towards the door.
- I'll see you next week -he said.
She smiled tenderly, with a warmth that made him feel awkward.
- You'll see her again.
He closed the door behind him and thought to himself:
- I won't.

I thought about you today. And blueberries. And that place, with the beer and the weed.
That little taste of your lipstick on the joint.
Sweet lord...

"How is it we got here? Man, I'm so high."

And the sky and the clouds and that one big star over the church.
Your runny nose and the cigarettes and the smoke.
That little bench on the hill.

And your hand and your fingers and your voice.
And your thoughts. That guy and girl.
But mostly your hands and your nails and your fingertips. Your eyes. Smile.

And the staircase and those trees and that lamp post and your neck...
Your perfume.
And that little taste of your neck on my lips. Your ear between my teeth.
And your warmth.
And the walk and your neck again.
Again. Again.

Se pá, quem sabe

Que sorriso, cara. Dente. Lábio. Tudo numa configuração perfeita. Convite à luxuria. Vi a boca dela, perfeita, molhada, brilhante, tão perto... Separei os lábios num sorriso nervoso e me sumergi sem medo naquele beijo familar, conhecido, antigo. Tão próximo que derrete toda memória triste com o calor da primeira vez. Parei. Faltou o ar. Olhei pra ela. Que mulher! Forte, livre, só... Boiando no vácuo duma liberdade surreal. Aqueles lugares tão incompatíveis com ela... Mas ela estava aquí. Forte, livre, só... Boiando num mar de saudade. Com aquele calor que derrete toda memória triste do estupor da última vez. Podia sentir aquilo desabando. Aquela segurança do conhecido, do familiar, do acostumado. Me acordou com un cafuné e um beijo. Me disse adeus. Eu levantei pra abrir a porta. A mesma porta q eu abri p dezir bem-vinda; a casa é pequena mas o coração é grande. E ela entrou, sentiu-se bem-vinda, bebeu, fumou e se despiu. Deixando aquela roupa antiga, familiar, desnecessária, no chão. Nua, em todo seu esplendor, em toda a suavidade da sua pele perfeita, toda a perfeição da sua pele molhada pelo suor da jornada. Toda a imperfeição do passado distante. O presente tão perto da felicidade que parecia suspeito. A presença inexplicável de espíritos indispensáveis. A imaginação frustrada ao comparar realidade com toda fantasia possível. Paisagem surreal. Ela. Seu corpo nú. Pele suave, macia, Inexplicável. Impossível. 

Indescritível!

Inatingível. Só a imaginação mais inocente consegue criar um universo com ela. Mas não. Nunca. Jamais. Se foi. Não voltará. Ou quiçá hão de se encontrar, quem sabe, indescritível. A sensação incomprensível. Ou, se pá, inatingível. Daquela história tão antiga, daqueles tempos tão longínquos... Daquele beijo tão pequeno... Deixado atrás, sozinho... Numa história tão fútil... Num passado tão distante. Numa história indescritível, personagens tão fatais, tão reais, tão sozinhos. Que se encontram em anos tres. Na intimidade de uma vodka, na complicidade de um red bull. Na intimidade de um 'eka'. Na complicidade de um 'a gente esteve lá ontem'. A via expressa. Miraflores, Barranco. O vento nos molhando. Aquela sensação no fundo do ser que enche de esperança a uma alma em pena. Peixe, cebola, limão. A desculpa do ensinar. O perdão do aprender. Serei sempre teu. Mas nunca serás minha. Ou se pá, quem sabe, seremos nossos. Numa noite distante, ao som de um jazz vadio. Um violão desafinado. Uma vodka vagabunda. Aquela garota teimosa, aquele cara gente fina. Nós todos. Só nós dois. O vento soprará em direção a nós. E seremos dois, no frio, na chuva, na água, no desespero, na calma de ter descifrado o vento. No prazer do reencontro. Na confiança do adeus. No adeus de um último beijo. Um cafuné. Beijo na boca. O sol do entardecer. Um baseado. Lima feliz com sua chegada. Lima chorando com a sua partida. Meu coração vazio na despedida. Cheio de bem-vindas. Você. Eu. Nós dois. Jamais. Pra sempre. Quem sabe. Algum dia. Eu até tentei. Mas não deu. Ela vai rir, eu sei. Mas agora não dá. Você lá, eu aqui. Se pá, quem sabe, voltaremos a beber, bater o copo com uma desculpa absurda, dizendo "salud por eso". Se pá, quem sabe, sei lá, eu não sei. Vc aqui, eu lá. Um desencontro.

E se pá, quem sabe, deixa ali. No desarranjo da sujeira, do chão molhado. Do peito desabado no desespero da solidão. Você lá, eu aqui. Se pá, quem sabe, seremos nós dois algum dia. Mas se pá, quem sabe, não.

Ou talvez

Será em um dia frio como qualquer outro dos teus dias. Esperarei em pé em frente à tua escola ou talvez sentado na calçada segurando uma rosa cor de rosa porque uma vermelha seria muito óbvia. Ou talvez anos depois em Garki ou Maitama em alguma praça qualquer em um dia tão quente que nos lembrará do Brasil. Ou mesmo no campus na cidade mais bonita que já conheceste, andando pelos corredores com um livro nas mãos ou sentada em algum jardim com o cabelo preso pensando em alguma conversação que acontecera minutos atrás, sem óculos, pois ninguém precisa enxergar nada enquanto pensa sobre as coisas que acabaram de acontecer. E então levantarei da calçada com a rosa cor de rosa nas mãos roxas de frio e sacudindo a neve da velha calça que usei no dia em que te conheci mas então lembro que te conheci à noite e não vestia uma calça mas uma bermuda porque foi no Brasil que te conheci e no Brasil é sempre quente demais para usar uma calça em qualquer festa que acontecesse do lado da piscina. Ou segurando então o violão que peguei emprestado do hippie que conheci na véspera e gostou tanto da minha história, até sentar do teu lado e interromper teus pensamentos tocando aquela velha canção que cantei para ti tantas vezes enquanto te via adormecer deitada tão longe, sorrindo de olhos fechados cada vez que eu entonava levo você no olhar. E então tu acordarás, e sorrirás mas dessa vez sem fechar os olhos e em silêncio porque tu nunca me interrompes quando estou cantando para ti. Ou talvez porque faz tanto tempo que eu não canto para ti enquanto adormeces naquela cama que adoras mas agora está tão longe porque Garki ou Maitama é tão longe de casa que significa várias semanas em um barco sem adormecer ao som da voz do meu violão. E quando eu acabar, sorrirás de novo, aplaudindo baixinho para não chamar a atenção das pessoas que passam olhando para nós se perguntando que lingua estranha é essa, e dirás obrigada por tocar para mim e eu rirei do teu sotaque de quem não fala português há muito tempo. Ou talvez porque estás vestindo um daqueles colares que são tão teus e me lembram tanto de ti. E eu direi agora estou aqui, posso tocar para ti o tempo que quiseres. E te entregarei a rosa cor de rosa então esperando que tu repares na cor mas em vez repararás nas minhas mãos roxas e ficarás em dúvida sobre me abraçar ou segurar as minhas mãos entre as tuas até elas pararem de tremer, mas então eu te dou o abraço que tantas vezes desejamos nos dar, tentando dizer tudo aquilo que sempre quis dizer mas ninguém diz assim tão longe e não haverá mais dúvida e segurarás as minhas mãos entre as tuas dizendo tadinho você está gelado - e eu sorrindo de novo - até elas pararem de tremer. E é então a minha vez de segurar as tuas mãos entre as minhas beijá-las e dizer não sabes o quanto eu senti a tua falta e tu pensarás nas semanas sem canto enquanto eu penso nos meses à distância. E caminharemos então entre as flores dos jardins do campus ou talvez você rirá cada vez que eu escorrego nas calçadas geladas de inverno em frente à tua escola perguntando como foi teu dia ou talvez o que tu tens feito nesse tempo todo sem nos vermos. E fingirei que esqueci que não gostas e pedirei para pararmos em um café, e tu fingirás que gostas e aceitarás por que no fundo sabes que eu preciso segurar o café quente nas mãos roxas geladas de frio do inverno e então direi leva-me ao teu lugar favorito e andaremos até algum lugar desconhecido para mim mas maravilhosamente familiar por que será tão teu e me lembrará sempre tanto de ti. Ou talvez até a cama que tanto adoras e está tão perto quanto um passeio em bicicleta mas iremos de ônibus por que até o café já está roxo de frio do inverno. E então deitarás na cama colocando a cabeça no travesseiro e olhando para mim mas de olhos fechados e eu queria ter o violão emprestado do hippie que conheci na véspera para te ver sorrindo mais uma vez enquanto eu entono não sei bem certo se é só ilusão mas poerei então um disco de Debussy - e quase peço para tocares piano para mim mas já está tarde e os vizinhos reclamarão - por que eu sei como tu ficas ao escutar Debussy e só então depois de eu tirar o casaco perceberás o perfume que estou usando e comprei tanto tempo atrás. Espreguiçarás inocente e provacativa enquanto eu desvio o olhar até o poster do circo que me diz o que fazer e te beijo tentando não dizer nada do que quero dizer por que ninguém diz assim tão rápido. E então estragarei tudo dizendo te amo e voltarei sem saber o que dizer à cadeira para ficar assim tão longe que várias semanas adormecendo sem canto tornam-se mais perto, e poder assim nessa distância toda fingir que nada foi dito pois ninguém diz te amo assim tão longe. E então algum amigo teu aparecerá para me resgatar daquele silêncio tão vazio mas tão cheio de palavras não ditas, com teu olhar procurando o meu perdido em aquele poster de circo que não me diz mais nada, pois talvez estaremos ainda em algum café ainda segurando um café roxo de frio do inverno enquanto eu falo com ele com um sotaque que te faz rir e partiremos então em direções opostas por que ninguém diz te amo assim tão rápido assim tão longe. Ou talvez segurarás mais uma vez as minhas mãos entre as tuas e dirás de novo tadinho você ainda está gelado e voltaremos andando para aquele lugar que é teu favorito e me faz sorrir por que é tão teu e me lembra tanto de ti e tuas mãos dirão também aquilo que eu não devia ter dito assim tão rápido por que ninguém diz isso assim tão longe. E assim com as tuas mãos entre as minhas, tudo ficará tão perto e tão lento que parecerá que o mundo envelhece ao nosso redor por não ser capaz de dizer te amo assim tão rápido, sem importar quão longe.