quarta-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2015

Blind date

Another year. Another mess. Other discoveries, misfortunes, attempts to stand tall just a while longer, plans to grow stronger and fearless, a bit more careless, a lot more hopeful, maybe less dissatisfied, less stubborn. I was raised to be scared, to follow a path other people had long ago carved across their bitter pasts. I inherited a handful of loneliness and filled a spoonful of hearts just as lonely. Sometimes I thought I'd pulled through; other times I just reached out for whatever I shall never find. Quite unfair to be pushed through the magic of existence with no clue on what lies ahead. I am not as afraid as I used to be. I am not afraid of having a baby, of losing it, of not being able to have one at all, of getting myself a dog, of struggling to have my own piece of land, of saying I love you, of living in someone else's heart, of sleeping while everyone else is dancing. I am no longer afraid of losing, of ageing, of missing a thing, of spending more time here than there, of facing prejudice in people's eyes, of making my own choices, of basing my choices on the stupidest reasons, of failing as a relative, as a partner, as a friend, as a professional, as a parent. I am afraid of failing as a human being, of not being ready to give in to love, of believing, of being ungrateful, of not giving the other cheek. I am afraid of not forgiving, not forgetting, not understanding why my life is different now, why my heart is still aching, why the songs I like singing have changed and yet remain the same. I am afraid of not finding in love the tranquility I have sought all my life. I am afraid of not getting presents or love messages, of not being surprised, of not being cherished, nurtured, embraced in body and soul. I am afraid of not being part of someone else's plans much more than I would ever be scared of flying, of dying, of being short of money, of simply not caring. I am afraid of waiting for my life to be a love poem and ending up wondering what the hell went wrong. This uncertainty bothers me from time to time and yet I insist on living; on trying; on starting from scratch; on making the same fucking mistakes and laughing at them afterwards. Boy, I'll tell you: I am often afraid of choosing the wrong answer, just like I did as a highschool student, and it all points to something larger than you and me: I guess I am really afraid of not having enough faith in the laws of action and reaction. As long as I react, however, I know I shall bear the same thoughts, blame others and skip from my responsibilities. Will I ever...? 

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