As Time Goes By

I was five when I first realised I was a person. All flesh and bones and organs and feelings. I jumped up and down on my bed until I was so dizzy I had to stop. I lay on the bed that night looking at the ceiling which had plastic stars stuck on it. I breathed in and out heavily, trying not to think, trying to only feel. I fell asleep with the stars then stuck in my eyes.

I was ten when I first got a puppy. I named her Bertie. We ran together around the house and she would sleep by my bed at night. I pet her and felt her fur on my hands, I heard the sound of her dog heart and I asked her questions to which she only barked.

I was eleven when I found out that the girl next door was my best friend. We walked home from school together every day and she walked Bertie with me every afternoon. One day when we were at my door and Bertie had already run inside, the girl next door put her lips against mine. She wore pigtails.

I was fourteen when Bertie died. She was run over by a lorry and I cried for a week. I did not go to school. The girl next door came to see me every day. That Friday she fell asleep by my side, her hands on mine.

I was sixteen when I asked her to be my girlfriend. She laughed and kissed me and called me an idiot. That was her way of saying “yes”. We went to the cinema and held hands. One day we went camping and slept under the starts in the sky. I felt like I was five again.

I was seventeen when we first had sex. It was messy and sweaty and strange, but it felt good. We did not sleep that night. We lay on her bed and cuddled and talked about how weird it is to be human.

I was nineteen when she broke up with me. She was going to university in another country and said we could not stay together. We cried and hugged and then she was gone, leaving me with promises of letters and phone calls.

I was twenty-one when I decided to move out. My parents were proud and told me not to forget about them and be happy. For the last time, I lay on my bed and looked at the plastic stars on the ceiling, trying only to feel.

I was thirty when I saw her again. She was walking arm in arm with some guy and I waved at her. She hugged me and introduced me her friend. We went out that week and she kissed me. Her hair was cut short and she smelled like strawberries.

I was thirty-two when I proposed to her. She cried and kissed me like she never had before. We bought a house and adopted a puppy. I had stars stuck on my bedroom ceiling.

I was forty when she told me she could not get pregnant. We wept and I held her and we decided to get more puppies. That night I could not sleep.

I was forty-four when we got in a car accident. A car came out of nowhere and we passed out. When I woke up, everything was white. She lay on a bed next to me and I reached for her hand. She was asleep.

I was forty-five when she died. I was sitting by her bed at the hospital. Her hand was holding mine and she closed her eyes. We had been talking about life. Her skin was soft and I thought of death. She sighed. The equipment beeped.

I was sixty when I went to the countryside. The house was secluded and I could see the stars at night. It was lonely and I thought of the girl next door.

I was eighty-five when I died. There was no one there but me and I felt a dull pain in my chest. At first I was scared. But then I felt nothing.

They are still here

Quanto mais a vida passava, pior o sentimento parecia. Os momentos iam e vinham com demasiada rapidez e minha ansiedade crescia.
Ninguém disse que a vida seria fácil e nunca acreditei que seria. No entanto, a cada passo que eu dou o futuro se aproxima, mais ameaçador e mais imprevisível a cada instante.
Nenhum dos sentimentos ruins foram embora. Estão todos aqui dentro, meio adormecidos mas acordando aos poucos, já começando a me sufocar com desespero.
Acordar voltou a ser mais e mais difícil.

No one

     I look around the room
     So full of people
     So full of sounds
     and friendship

     And yet here I am
     Surrounded with colleagues
     and laughs
     But I have never felt more lonely

Step one

É engraçado como podemos passar tanto tempo dentro de nossas próprias mentes e nem mesmo percebemos que o fazemos.
Passo metade de meu dia tendo conversas comigo mesma, fazendo planos e imaginando situações que provavelmente nunca se tornarão realidade. De conversas simples a melhores amigos, de sorrisos a amores intensos, ao chá com biscoitos num flat em Londres.
O mundo poderia acabar e eu não notaria.
Obviamente a atitude mais recomendada seria que eu parasse de monopolizar a mim mesma e exteriorizasse minhas ideias. Se ao menos fosse tão fácil quanto soa.
Sair de minha zona de conforto é difícil. Quase impossível. Principalmente por não ter certeza se quero dela sair. 
Mas tentarei. Baby steps. Uma frase, um texto, pensamentos aleatórios jogados no papel que de sentido podem ser desprovidos. Não importa. O mundinho é meu, afinal de contas. 
This is step one. Nada de filosofias profundas demais. Nada de contos. Só um lembrete. 
Acho que não machuca. Pelo menos ainda não.

Uma visão triste

Papel em branco.
Caneta jogada ao lado.

Charles Bukowski

My dear,
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all.
Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual 
nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to
be killed by a lover.

G.S.