derrames incendiários

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a vida toda ouvi dizer: onde há fumo, há fogo. e vou calhar aqui, neste metro quadrado de cidade onde a lei é: onde é fosforo, há incêndio.

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What it costs

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If you ever get the chance to love a person who knows grief, do not let them go You see, the thing about grief is that it’s not exclusive it consumes life and it taints everything a little grey It won’t hesitate to remind you that everyone and everything you love will disappear some day But I’ve found that the people who carry grief love with a fierceness that no one else knows  They understand what’s at stake because they’ve had to let someone go  So they remember the little things and they show up when it counts They know that life is rare you won’t have to spell it out So don’t take for granted the people who know loss for they know more about love because they know what it costs - Whitney Hanson
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Call me by you name

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“You two had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would wish the whole thing go away… And pray their sons land on their feet. But… I am not such a parent.” We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste! Have I spoken too much? Then let me say one more thing. It’ll clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you two have. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business, just remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. And before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there’s sorrow, pain. Don’t kill it and with it the joy you’ve felt.”
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eu estava bem, eu sentia-me bem, reconfortada com esse teu esquecimento quase imediato. eu tinha quase aceite a impossibilidade da remota hipótese do teu retorno, eu tinha-me habituado serenamente à voz rouca e engasgada da minha mãe quando desleixadamente ainda perguntava por ti. eu estava bem, eu estava tão bem, tão bem sem ti . sem te ter constantemente enfiado dos meus nunca-mais-serenos sonhos, nos meus nunca-mais-conscientes devaneios. até ao dia. até ao dia em que decidiste lembrar-me que te disse tantas vezes que iria amar-te sempre, com os meus lábios rasgando os teus no calor do meu desejo, lembraste-me assim a maneira bárbara como ousava dizer-to: "serei sempre eu a amar-te mais". e sou, ainda hoje o sou, amando-te sempre mais, ainda que agora pouco, comparando ao infinito de dias anteriores. boa noite dôdô.
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