Epitaphs

A story about love.

Part One: Nomads

Ive saved our past inside a golden dome by that rst yellow rose you gave me. Through the warm glass, its still possible to listen to our conversations, our songs, our sighs. I yawned, you asked if I had got up early. Yes: it was too soon for us, too late to help it. Time healed the wounds your name cut. Time carved your memory deep inside my chest. All thats left is the sweet made of your guilty naiveness, your old lost smile. Although I know nothing of you anymore - for the doors are locked; the keys, forgotten - with my eyes closed Im sure part of you is still the melancholic boy with Love as his last name. Condemned but innocent, holding a yellow rose against the cold wind.

Halloween: friends and feeling meet again. You were wearing plaid, a sad cowboy surrounded by a Marlboro cloud. Me? I cant remember and neither can you. You said youd hold me close cause one cant run away from ones Fate. I laughed pretending I didnt care about your embrace. Fates so fragile anyway. Wearing nothing but the irony armour that once t me so well, you asked me why was I smiling. Me? Oh, nothing. After all, she was there and I was invisible. Nevermind, tonight is Halloween. Im the lonely hippie humming The Beatles love anthem, white dress, braided hair and a daisy in hands: I wait for a long gone simplicity. You walk in, the cigarette smoke preceding your entry. Same shirt. One could smell disillusion from miles away. You kiss my cheek hi with a melancholic smile. No, shes not coming, you say. We broke up. Im sorry, I didnt know. Its midnight, old ghosts hunt us. How it hurt to see you two together, a smile that I owned and the kiss on her lips. Your unshaved beard scratching my neck - no, shes here and Im invisible. Yeah, we hadnt talk in a while. If I missed you? I look away, restless, and take another sip on whatever it is that Im drinking before I nish my cigarette. I felt something, yes. When you kiss me, everything is as new as it once was. Our hands entwined, step after step. Downstairs, the music is loud. People get drunk and dream and dance, oblivious to the monsters inside their own skin. The world, tonight, seems a little bit safer. The mould of the good old days - our golden days. Another kiss and Ill fall asleep with the sweetest dreams ever. It dawns. The light asks no forgiveness as it breaks out the window uninvited, as lazy and warm as your embrace. I wonder if youre already awake and suddenly I hear you hum (eyes still closed): all you need is love.

If I didnt have the shallow sweetness of Romantics, long would I be lysergic and catatonic among ashes and anonymous love letters. Despite of drowning in doubts and handcuffed in tears, Id throw up my butteries after the long time I spent rooting on the everything you meant to me. All those illusions. You held my hand as you healed my deepest wounds. I jumped, tired of waiting on the unavoidable empty poems. Im sorry, youre sorry. It was a distant frame in black and white. Its alright.You can still sleep on my shoulder as you dream about her. Im the girl on top of the tower, but I dont want to be saved. Im the poisoned apple.

When you smile, I want to touch your rst wrinkles, those around your blue eyes. Scars of dried tears. Are your lips still bitter? I guess not - she would know so. And her smile is as sweet as yours.

Me, Ive sung the most beautiful tunes to fall my demons asleep - but now Ive got only an old voice. One must breathe quietly so the lies wont be awakened when the air threats them, a sudden avalanche. I might go mad with the possible tragedy. Right now Im one in a million and I need to nd out if I was once unique. The snowake burns in hell, hot of words that I kept hidden for you never to nd out, never to know for sure that youre the actor of the scene Id live in an innite loop. As I deeply inhale, my ngers turn to dust. The old fall begins. I put on my clothes, my disguises, my masks. Life has colour, though Im quite aware of what goes on behind the curtains. Im not to get tired, otherwise all my velvet puts itself at risk. A lullaby so you can fall asleep and I shall watch your dreams: you are to see only what I want you to. May you ever nd out that Im as hollow as my promises.

Lilies, he brought me lilies. A good night kiss, a farewell gift. Sweet dreams, you know Ill miss you. Can stars twinkle above our heads, they sing a lullaby about broken hearts. Its getting cold, hold me. Promise me something impossible. Ill wait for you, wake me up if I fall asleep.

She had a surreal ability to nd beauty on the saddest situations. While the drizzle contoured her delicate face, I think she smiled. Or was it tears? I couldnt tell if she was depressed - to dene her sadness would be too imprecise. You might know, if it was you staring her dark eyes, cause others always know. The cold was coming inside out, so I pressed my trench coat closer to my body. She asked me something, but I could not hear. Her voice was getting further away, closer to the horizon. If only I didnt stay frozen, predictable, powerless, coward. If only I knew the things others always know. She screamed against the thunders - the storm was so loud I could only see her perfect lips writhe in horror. The clouds were taking her away through the whirlpool of tears. I straightened my collar up and turned my back on her, going on my way. I cried frozen, predictable, powerless, coward -, and others knew why.

Part Two: Unloveable

I saw him at an empty bar, sad but pensive in his plaid shirt. It was as dirty as his glass full of beer. Love at rst sight, even though I didnt know his name. It was his idea on my mind - to unsolve those mysteries - a child obsessed with her new toy. His lost eyes gaze at the cigarette as it burns in slow motion. Distant, reliving scenes from the past. He was young and mourned the worlds whole sorrow, his own life full of grime. I order myself a beer and sit by his side. I puff on his forgotten cigarette - hes not surprised and not impressed. We smile at each other, defying all rules of common sense and comprehension. He loves me too.

Dont I know you from some place? I shrugged my shoulders. Perhaps, but it made no difference. To a guys perspective, all girls were the same anyway, so I looked away. You know, not so many things are as lonely as a dance oor. I smiled in agreement. Blame it on the impossible woman sweet smoke, blame it on the repetitive beat that lingers inside your head the morning after. Reminding you that, no matter how many times you try, the end is always the same. Maybe it was just jealousy. No, I think its all plastic. Fake. They dont make music as they used to. No more soul. Well, denitely not. Music was routine. Everything was neon, a bubble out of time and space, full of ecstasy and morphine and sweat. Despite of plastic, it was physical and electric. Organic. Sort of a socially acceptable orgy, right? - he laughed, mixing his ice cubes inside the empty glass. Still, I think hippies did it better. Do you wanna dance? I wanted to.

Do I make you happy? No answer. What is it? Is everything alright? No. I mean yeas, its alright.You make me happy. Whats with the face, then? I cant stand happiness. Sush, you had too much to drink. Sleep. No, wait, its true. I dont want to be happy - its overrated anyway. Its coward of lazy people, so they dont suffer. Youre not making any sense. Come on, come back to bed. No, its true! You do make me happy, but its not good for me. Its so simple - Im not myself. Im sorry. Cut that off, its two in the morning. Where are you going? I said I was sorry. Sleep tight.

I sit by the edge of the bed and light myself a cigarette while she takes her stuff without any trace of regret. She fakes no interest and makes no apologies. She doesnt care. Deep down I already know, I say to myself while I inhale. It was written in those indecipherable eyes - the type of signal you dont read at time. The door closes quietly. Shes gone. I nish my cigarette and lay down. Its too late to do anything, so I guess I should try and sleep.

He couldnt sleep, but wouldnt get out of bed. The day slowly crawled like a snail through the innite. He thought about her - long enough to toss and turn -, while he stared the ceiling that hadnt been white for ages. Her presence needed to be get rid of. It led the whole apartment, invisible and toxic. As if to free himself from boredom, he loudly exhaled. The breathing itself would make everything fade: more than just carbonic gas, but her essence that still lingered somewhere between his lungs and stomach. Again, she was owning his thoughts. The curtains revealed a grey day. Great, he said to himself, an awful weather that requires no invention for colours. If she was there, she would have laughed as she always did of his exaggerated drama. Fuck: grey again. Franticly, he looked for his cigarettes - the need for ashy clouds coming from his own lugs to go with the smoky life outside. But inside, the nameless place between his lungs and stomach... It had her name in it. His pack was in the middle of the oor. He laughed bitterly, for life was very ironic indeed - just like her. The loneliness of the day choked him. He wanted to cry, to die, to sleep - but the knowledge that tomorrow would be just like today, today just like yesterday, no tomorrows nor todays nor days before. Without her, it was all the same.

It was dark when he lit himself a cigarette, the perfect time to think between rough puffs. I knew he was leaving, but I couldnt argue. His big hands came and went leading the cigarette to his lips. A bit of Louis Garrel in The Dreamers - but it was coming to an end, just about to be destroyed by good-bye words. When I opened my eyes, he wasnt there anymore.

In a blink of an eye, it means nothing. She didnt have the deep blue eyes I love so much, but she had kept my heart warm. Now, what is there to feel but cold? We were not special and it wasnt our fault. We agree its over and theres no reason for tears. What about the sparks? She stares me with those eyes I never loved and I look away. Confused. I do want to feel the same, I do want to believe though her eyes are not the deep blue ones. She kept me warm and now, with a blink, I feel the air freezing again. I thought she was the one to save me.

Part Three: Shreds

Cheap soap, pine trees, dewy mornings - thats how the past smells like. I sit here wondering if I had imagined the whole thing. My eyes are closed - no, I only think I shut them. Theyre still wide open, staring at the wall. My sanity should be questioned. Do the crazy really think theyre sane? That smell again: the time that went by without me noticing. Corridors and locked doors. Empty drawers, mould and moths. Books with its pages glued to each other. Its all so dark. Owls, letters I didnt write, chaotic portals meticulously calculated and forgotten in the closet. My neck turns 360 degrees - no, Im frozen. More coffee. What if I dream again? Theyll be back, they will surely be back... He woke up scared.

My gift is to live on pain, to feed on shreds. Those who are shallow, normal, useless: they can laugh for they live as cats in Chesire. My gift is to live on love, to feed on weak. Laugh in silence, poor hearts, when your corrupted illusions run screaming down the endless hall. From my throat nightmares y, selsh wings and cockroachs antennas. I coughed blood. My gift is to live on pain, to feed on death. My gift is to die on love, to feed on luck.

You know it as well as I do, you remember how it is to be lonely, stuck between shelves full of horror stories - frightening nightmares based nn our past. Of all we are and of all the love we were: halves faint, slow and painfully, to an erased innite. Can meteorites cross the sky leaving aming traces. If the glass is empty, ll it. If the cigarette burned, light it. If the love is over, let it go. For there is enough time for all vices.

I dress myself as an actress so I can exist in some way., creator of me with you as my brother. My torments meticulously transformed into your tortures, adventures I only dare to dream. Fiction is also imperfect, the door in to our escape gate. A song that shouldnt be played, endless love promises, broken lies. You are so touchable in your rough ends - it hurts to remember you only live in this movie I direct without script. My most veridic invention: so real that could only be imaginary.

The room is perfectly clean, still I can smell the dust painting the air with its sepia hues. Im older than Time itself. Everyday people die bored. The night is over and Im going home alone. The moon watches my lonely walk. My body is nothing but a shell. I wonder if its really worth going on, for I walked too much and my feet are bloated. The answer will come eventually. One step after another. One more and again.

The toothless smiles and the blind see thing I cant. Im young, but but hands are trembling and my lines are wrong. Life clicks as fragile as dry leaves, hearts that break under my feet. Songs of a cozy and warm autumn, just like my grandmothers house. We will wait for the summer to harvest the berry, the strawberries sunny explosion. Paraplegics run towards life while I gather leaves from the trees that had given up. Dry songs of a dead autumn, just like my grandmother.

The rst sunset is always the last, always the unique. All our loneliness, our emptiness: us against the sun. The sickness faded with the solar anaesthesia, for the sun also dies. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. The treadmill towards the empty - more emptiness. Steps echoes while the sun burns. Everyday, to be born and die again. Our sleep is death. We lay starving for the absence of consciousness, the eight hours that go without us noticing. The relief of not thinking. No, no nightmares, no dreams: we sleep because we die, day after day. We are the last sunset.

Addendum: Phoenix

Sometimes I wished to have lived in another time, she said, touching her rst lines on the mirror. Do you think I should grow my hair long? I like it that way. Maybe I should dance barefoot and only wear dresses, she continued, opening the curtains. The rsts light of a pale summer morning painted the walls like an old photograph. He smiled and sunk his head into the pillow, hiding his eyes from the clarity. There, with his reckless curls and unshaved beard, she noticed that he didnt belong to that time. I would love you anywhere, any time.

Contvamos estrelas de costas na grama, pertencendo a uma poca que no existia mais, nostalgicamente inventados. - E nossas feridas que nunca cicatrizam? As dores que nos anestesiam aos poucos, os cacos de sonhos que nunca saram da Terra do Nunca? - Por baixo da mscara, somos caretas retorcidas. Escondemos nossos erros, nossas mentiras. - Escute, eles esto rindo! Como podem? Confundem o sangue com vinho, as lgrimas com gua. Se um baile de mscaras... - ... eu quero danar com voc. Segurar sua mo, pousar minha cabea em seu ombro. - Com voc eu estou instantaneamente em casa. - Foge comigo. Esquece quem prometeu tanto e no cumpriu nada. - Esquece quem talvez ser seu futuro, hoje eu sou seu presente. - Pode tirar sua mscara, eu prero as cicatrizes os humanos ainda sentem! Seu medo lindo, seu sorriso lindo, sua dor linda. - Feche os olhos e me beije, meu amor, nossa noite melhor que para sempre. Perdemos a conta e as estrelas se apagaram. III. Ela aninhou-se nos ombros dele, procurando proteo e conforto. Achou os dois e perdeu-se, respirando o cheiro daquela pele que agora era to familiar. - Eu me apaixonei pela sua tristeza. Ele suspirou levemente e apertou o abrao: - Eu sei. Sabia mesmo? - Foi depois que li aquele livro que voc recomendou. Tinha uma frase que era voc, todas as letras formando um exrcito dourado que evitava o seu medo do escuro. Ento eu entendi tudo. Ele beijou-a na testa. Os dois fecharam os olhos e adormeceram sorrindo. IV.

Its a fresh and lazy Saturday afternoon. She lays in a hammock with a book lled with little love stories. Thats what she needs to fall in love again. Not much: the beach, the sticky wind ocean scented, the hammocks movement. His curly locks stained blond by the salt are almost visible to her now. They miss the perfect summer. Cold lemonades and sunny strawberries. The waves break somewhere, singing a melancholyc yet sweet serenade to the unborn moon. The sand also sings while they both walk light-hearted towards the horizon. Its all light: coral hues and lilac dotted with early stars. Just one more minute, cause they need to keep these memories inside some shell. Yellow towels and lavender. It was pure and simple. It was perfect.

The feeling that rottened wont bloom, alb and limpid. They are gone and so are we. Even if it hurts now and then, well let the past be past. I close my eyes and feel alive for the rst time in years. A deep breath and Im ready to dive into my own dreams. I wont deny the feelings that are gone, Ill leave them as they were. Smile, love, cause we are locked in reality and theres nothing we can do about it. So nish up your cigarette and kiss me because from now on, all I am is love.