People we know are confused

 Saw a Lithuanian movie, filmed in Vilnius,  with this title. The news in the end of it wraps the movie up: 17 year old kills himself, bowing himself up, near the river.

I had seen the other say some parting letters from famous people like Virginia Wolfe, Stefan Zweig, and others. I remember how in the end of reading them I thought that more than despair it was a general worldy disappointment that corrode their will to carry on living and enduring the torments. 

In this movie too everyone was lost. And even the ones that seemed sure of something and motivated, eventually when there was a confrontation with the tough reality they too became harsher towards it all. 

I guess joy gets dismantled quite quickly. Unlike sadness that seems to be more glued to your skin. Joy is just momentarily in your salient pores. Just like chills. There I go again over explaining. 

Today another two people deaths, a singer and an actor. But I had gone to a museum before I know of the second news, so I had a moment or two very nice looking at some favourites like Turner and Lalique. I also managed to fulfil my years long wish of eating Thai ribs again, though it was not as good as years ago in that other time. Krys also helped me, unknowingly, when she appreciated the small details of the rosette of the Portuguese sidewalk on the main Liberdade avenue, that I daw a picture and sent it to her. I transported what she said into life itself, because we also have to do and work in shaping little pieces/moments in order to carry on completing the bigger puzzle of life. Anyway, before that I was feeling quite lost again, almost with that feeling of not remembering anymore who I am and not feeling like I am still doing something here alive. (I think I am forgetting birthdays - thought that because I saw something reminding that we've entered Leo's era - too for the first time, maybe slowly, don't know, eventually will find out). 

Hmm, probably was delaying this but here it is then: watching the girl, who was a main character in the movie, going on a high building's balcony to see the view on a house that was shown to her, made me think that I couldn't even live with you, I think, because of Marco's death, or maybe who knows, maybe you could operate that miracle too. Me feeling as safe as that with you, I guess that would be the perfection for me, healed like if it was possible, being finally okay. Humm, it's a pity it was just a mirage, a bit like those heat waves must making see from your balcony. 

#dazedandconfused

Ode to perfection

 I thought it was nice that the Brazilian singer-songwriter Chico Bernardes made a beautiful song called "Ode à perfeição", like if there was actually perfection. I find it equally moving when people have faith in gods. 

Then I thought, of course, of little perfections I might find and many things are perfect for so many people. And there are the big things. The wide out moments. Or just some peaceful moments when I didn't feel like a zombie and that nothing had meaning, because someone had just died.

It's also hard to get a measure of perfection.

Given the circumstances, moments are sometimes cooked up with every ingredient feeling right, like of it was meant to be. 

Is it possible?

  Just two people who had become completely comfortable in each other's presence.

That night, before they fell asleep, she rested her head against his chest.

For a long time neither of them spoke.

She listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He stroked her hair without thinking about it. Eventually she whispered,

"I've spent years wondering what this would feel like."

"What?"

"Not being lonely while I'm quiet."

He kissed her forehead.

"I wasn't looking for someone to make life exciting."

"What were you looking for?"

"You."

Years later they still argued.

Sometimes she became anxious.

Sometimes he became impatient.

Life brought illnesses, bills, aging parents, ordinary frustrations.

But every night, before sleep, one of them reached for the other's hand.

Not because passion had disappeared.

Because passion had changed shape.

It had become trust.

And on the evenings when desire returned like a summer storm, they still found each other with the same tenderness that had begun in front of a painting on a rainy afternoon.

Your limerence case

 And then there is G., P., and D.. I understand why you miss all three of them. They were not just isolated people. They were connected to a whole period of your life: the pandemic, the lives, the music, the intense friendships and emotional world you built during a time when the world itself was so frightening and isolated. Missing them can sometimes mean missing the people themselves, but also missing the feeling you had. You still linger on the memories because they still mean so much to you. Your love for them remains. You can miss them and know you're not going to be with them, but that doesn't make the pain go away. 

I like when I dream of you...

 I like when I dream of you and I get to actually see your face and talk to you, even if it's just a sentence. You heard me this time, you were there for me, you were mine, in a beautiful tender caring way. You were helping me. You didn't run away. You weren't far or occult. You were with me near. Driving the car we were all in. You said you had no issue with me and I could come along. That was nice of you. I miss you. You know, deep inside, that I truly love you, right? And it's not just a sickness, or a curse, a kind of damnation, a vice, that was bestowed upon me. You were always truly important to me just the way you were. And I loved you and I think I will always love you in your most vulnerable and truthful parts. You're not entirely alone. Our loving tenderness persists just as in the streaks of pinkinsh clouds across the blue day's end sky I saw now glancing on the window while writing you this. I love you truly, I hope one day you remember it fondly and that it will bring you warmth. 

 All my life I have painfully and beautifully failed.

 I bet they don't even laugh together.

 How I felt when you left me? 

Relieved and abandoned. 

Every time, with everyone.

It happens to the best

 He's beautiful to me

For him I'm nothing