Immensity

Present

And, when I think

Of you,

The past rests

In a peace

I’ve never felt

Before,

The future smiles,

With its open arms

And the present…

Ah! The present holds

My hands

So tightly

And looks into my gaze,

With those bright

Blue-greenish eyes,

Telling me

Everything is alright…

Already!

***

(E quando eu penso

Em ti,

O passado descansa

Numa paz

Que eu nunca senti

Antes,

O futuro sorri

Com seus braços abertos

E o presente..

Ah! O presente segura

Minhas mãos,

Tão firmemente,

E me fita o olhar

Com sua mirada

Azul-esverdeada,

Dizendo que tudo

Já está

Muito bem... )

***

Dune (Study)

Dramatic Sky (Study in Watercolour)

Estudo em Sépia

Icarus

The blue in your eyes

Is the sky

I want to fly

With the wings

I was given

By the One

Who shaped me

Into who I became today…

***

(O azul dos teus olhos

É o céu

No qual eu quero voar

Com as asas

Que me foram dadas

Por aquele

Que moldou

Quem eu,

Hoje,

Me tornei…)

***

Nocturne

The gloomy melody was coming out of the old piano as those long fingers, almost as pale as the ivory keys, stroke them with bold lust, sometimes slowly, others energetically.

He played with the same sensuality that he strategically used on skin contact: careful, light, slow and precise, as opposed to the vigour of those big, strong hands.

The music score was all scribbled in an attempt to always perfect the work that would never be finished. Was that really perfectionism, laziness or a not-so-disguised narcissism?

How sad had the autumn become before a bleak, desolate winter was unexpectedly announced.

- Will you be back?

- One day.

- When? How?

- You'll know.

- Will I?

- Surely. Why not?

He tried to grin, but his smile was always so sad. How come he'd never smiled completely, with his eyes, his mouth, his whole face? Those eyes didn't even have proper wrinkles. Had he never really smiled? Had he never been truly happy?

That seemed more than a simple 'see you soon' or 'until one day'…

- Will you be happy?

- I will.

A strange uneasiness in my heart. I wanted so much to hug that much-desired body again. I gave in to the internal conflict, which ran between right and wrong; between will, need, and longing, against what seemed ridiculous and coherent.

‘Damn the conflict. Who cares? It's now or never again!’

- Can I give you a hug?

- Sure.

How sad this hug, this anguish, that moment was... I wished I could hate him. But I couldn't.

How could someone hate those that were so much loved?

I let myself go free from that embrace. My eyes were moist. It was always so damn hard to let go.

- Don’t cry.

- No. I won't cry. I never cry, as you know.

He laughed.

- Yeah, right.

He looked at me for the last time with that sad, distant look; almost indecipherable; almost insurmountable and that was all about his decision to leave, so abruptly.

And then we parted and he departed. All those parts and pieces were all partly broken and parted, when he departed like he did. I felt like all parts of my soul were shattered and scattered around me.   

Only his song was left. Out of time. Out of tune and out of rhythm. Just like my heart…

The many notes were all left loose all over the aged and ripped-up music score so worn out by the use of those long pale fingers, which were tired of rewriting them, over and over, so many times and without being able to finish the piece, for once and for all.

There were also those words, handwritten one after the other, without metric and without rhymes in an impulsive and poor construction. A mixture of vowels and consonants, arranged to make some sense, on the yellowed paper sheets and fading, in time… in the eyes of memory…

A nostalgic, downhearted and unfinished Nocturne, left untouched on the old and now muted piano, at a strategic point in the living room.

That melancholic music still seemed to fully flood the empty spaces.

The emptiness, as a consequence, was overflowing all those blank spaces, once so full of life in my body and soul.

In my life there was only the glum, unfinished melody, still vibrating in the corners of the ambience and memory, like that pseudo-relationship, which had been suspended in an 'until now' expectation… infinitely…

***