The dream

Last night I had a dream. And the dream killed you...

Random moments for random times

And after all I got nothing to say. My thoughts got tired and my words died on their way out. I closed my eyes tightly but not even a tear dropped because I couldn't felt a thing, I was again in the deepest dark places of my soul. My eyes can only see the fog and the ugliness of this world and beyond the fog there is nothing, there's just a huge void. My ears can only catch this buzz where everybody is saying the same thing and none of it matter at all. Fantasy became my reality and outside that it is impossible to exist, it is unbearable to live. Things are just to ugly and pointless. Nothing gold could ever stay. The extraordinary mantains it's physical presence for the ordinary to admire, but it can never understand it, feel it or share any kind of profound events with it. I am just a showcase threw which you look and you think you know it all, you think you can trust your senses, but they're playing tricks to your mind cause all this is just too much for you to apprehend or understand. Maybe next season's inspirations will suit me better.

R.

If tomorrow never comes...

I would be a sad ghost, with no one to protect or haunt. I would not tell you all the things I never did, because you are just not worth it. I would just live this memoir and that would be all you got left from me:

Did you have tried to be good in everything? Did you ever meant for people to remember you? To love you? Have you ever kissed a person with the intention of changing her life? Have you ever admired someone so much that you believe in everything she believes? Did you make an effort to be different and to have the ability to inspire people? Have you got a planet of your own? How many people visited it? Did any lived there? Did you always gave your best?

My answer:

I always had the intention to be the best in what I was doing, the best student, the best girlfriend, the best friend, the best everything....Some of them I've failed, some not...but I always give everything I got, even if I don't say so, to what I commit to and that always leaves some kind of impression.

I never meant for people to remember me. Most of them I don't want to. The other ones, I want them to be around me so they don't have to remember me.

Everybody with whom I had a relationship above 60 in a scale of 100, yes. I did meant to be loved. Loved in a way that many people don't know how or don't understand. If tomorrow never comes I would never know...

Most of people I kissed I intended to make them fall in love for me. Sometimes it was quite easy and they didn't put much of a challenge or spice the thing, and so I ended up to be bored most of the time. Guess nowdays they prefer to taste as many lips as they can and not remember them. What can I do?

I've never admired any one from the opposite sex while I was having a relathionship. I did learn to admire some people after we broke up and let their interests and tastes find space into my personality. But they will never know that, because I will never show them my "The things I never told you" letters.

I try to have personality in everything. I'm a mix and a reflection of my life experiences. My person is not just about the way I look, the way I behave and my convictions. All these things are mutable. I'm a very complex person and I have many passions in my life. I'm a mix, and I think that's different. I know so many people I can describe with only one word...
I just want to inspire people who inspire me and who want to get inspired by me.

I live in another planet. A much more interesting one by the way. No one has ever been there, not ever saw a glimpse of it. That might mean that I'm a loner.

There's always more that you can do! Too much is never enough! But just because you are willing to give your best doesn't mean you'll get results. That's the way it is. Get used to it.

Dedicated to all the people who: wander around and don't fight for what they really want;
who are afraid to be different; who think they're different but deep down are shallow and dumb; who never wanted to change somebody's life; and to all that ones that are obessed about their things and deny themselves the pleasure of sharing, learning and living.

R.

Mão Esquerda

Não foi até este Inverno que a minha mão esquerda passou a ter um significado especial. Até então, tinha vivido como qualquer outra mão. Era um cartão de visita para o mundo decorado pelas cores dos vernizes e a quantidade certa de metal, uma arma de sensualidade, prazer e carinho, um instrumento de trabalho.
Certo dia, andava ela perdida por essa noite lisboeta, servindo de suporte para um Marlboro Gold e pingada com gin, quando já por entre tombos, esbarrou numa mão esquerda pálida e delicada, com quem iniciou um acto de conversação. Já tinha, em tempos, se deparado com ela por esse mundo fora, mas nunca lhe dedicou muito interesse nem tempo, sabendo apenas que esta tinha, entre todas as suas funções normais, uma especial...Esta não era uma mão esquerda qualquer...ela era capaz de transmitir a partir do seu tacto profissional, sensações que nos fazem formigueiros nos pés e nos põem a dançar, transportando consigo toda uma carga simbólica e cultural, todo um pensamento, um cuidado e uma magia, que estão por detrás do seu dono.
Ela aproximou-se subtilmente com os seus dedos meigos e tocou na minha, projectando no seu toque todo o seu calor e energia. Nos dias que seguiram, a minha mão experiênciou um misto de medo com intriga. Sentiu-se intrigada pelas faíscas emitidas em torno deste contacto e pelas sensações que lhe eram transmitidas. Sentia-se ameaçada quando estas passavam e aquela mãozinha delicada continuava ali a agarra-la firmemente, a emanar o seu calor, roçando e entrelaçando os seus dedos na minha. Ela encolhia-se e fechava-se sem saber o que fazer mas a mãozinha delicada continuava lá expectante.
E assim, este jogo continuou, por tempo indeterminado, mandando ora faíscas, ora foguetes, ora incêndios, ora tempestades...Até que um dia, num acto de plena ternura e paixão, de união de esforços entre a mão direita e a esquerda, estas se dirigiram á mãozinha pálida e delicada, pegaram nela e na sua pele gravaram a tinta preta as palavras: gosto de ti. As minhas mãos tornaram aquela mãozinha ainda mais especial, ligando-a a palavras que expressam um dos sentimentos mais puros e simples, o gostar. Dali para a frente, o seu dono olharia para ela e iria recordar-se do seu significado, estampando no seu rosto um sorriso de felicidade.
Num acto de grande carinho a sua mãozinha, não quis ser sozinha responsável por transportar o significado de um sentimento tão bonito e pediu a minha para a ajudar, disse-lhe que juntas eram capazes até de transformar esse sentimento numa coisa ainda mais bonita, e enquanto a tentava convencer, afagava-lhe delicadamente a pele com movimentos suaves que fizeram o meu corpo arrepiar-se, me enregelaram os ossos,o coração bateu mais forte, a voz tremeu-me e as minhas cuecas molharam-se....e a minha mão esquerda só conseguiu agarrar aquela mãozinha delicada com toda a força que tinha.

R.