“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.”
I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one, who once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events, saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living, they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lie your hea...
Eram oito da manhã e o pequeno almoço parava-lhe no estômago como se de um ato violento se tratasse. Tudo o que sentia era ódio, desprezo e uma profunda tristeza que não lhe saía do corpo. Talvez estivesse tão habituada a ser miserável que nada lhe sabia bem, nada era suficiente e tudo lhe dava a volta ao estômago. Há muito anos que não sentia aquela sensação de copo meio vazio, aquela sensação de que, por melhor que fosse o momento, tudo a deixava naquele limbo da felicidade, sendo feliz à sua maneira. Não era algo que ambicionava, ser o tipo de pessoa que nunca estava feliz, mas a verdade é que era isso mesmo que via no seu futuro. Mesmo que melhor, mesmo que distante, parecia sempre tão aquém dos seus sonhos de criança. Talvez o problema fosse estar no sitio errado, talvez estivesse a caminhar há anos na direção oposta e, agora que olhava para trás, já n...
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