sounded long since five in the morning and I go round and round on the sheets that cling to the sweat of my body like a sheet of porous paper. Sleep definitely not me looking for more. Do not know who visit, but to me let me immersed in this gelatin sugary and sickly. We all share the same dark journey eastward far that month since then have tried to forget. But something has endured this loss of innocence and abandon the illusions of the original, who has since each step is stuck to us as the fear of the dark or voices in a tumultuous country at war. How many things I promised you! How many things ... So many times I told you, and tell others imagined that all the rare things that I could find that path would bring back to you, my love, packaged in boxes and cages as priceless treasures. How many lies told not know how many falsehoods produced in such small space of time. And things that I brought you? A cynical soul and disgusted with this world.
As if you were there right now, I hear even the artificial breathing machines that pump in inert body the air I thought the dust of the ground saturated. And that continued after me is too greasy and difficult to be removed by the hot water. It hurts still, and just wanted to return to life everything that she gave me so far! Deliver me from the obligation to be here once again to serve a meaningless, and no one can explain to me what purpose it serves.
yet long ago woke up in the middle of a light sleep with strange sounds that reached me of the cracks in the windows, coming from the dark night. Sometimes opening the door for the black of night without turning on the light so as not to attract mosquitoes or unwanted attention, and I sat in a small brick wall and cement that was outside the room smoking a cigarette and trying to realize that beings would be those that produce sounds that drew me sleep. And on those nights of insomnia, among the shadows of the trees, seemed to me sometimes to see other shadows, and amid the snorting of the leaves seemed to hear other sounds. When the dogs were barking a peace soothed me to tense muscles and brought to mind the smell of summer in the distant fields of the Mondego, while walking my dogs after dinner.
The day it happened I lost consciousness of all things. Just remember the car radio which broadcast the news and windshield full of red dust. We advanced in fits and starts and the window was open on my side, sticking to the same red dust on my arm, as he was holding a half-smoked cigarette already! What keeps the memory! And just remember after a strong sound and watch the parade of all things, of all colors and a buzz that was going away from me while raising a pain in the stomach and legs. Then I remember just lying, covered with a white sheet, and connected to wires, wires many strangers! And beside me a different body, and the sound of an artificial respirator. That sound sore rubber compressed and extended. The fatigue of materials to the afternoon heat, sweat and sweet smelling the earth and mixed blood in my body. The pain then threw me back to the nights when the room I heard the strange sounds outside and opened the door to smoke outdoors.
Days must have happened without them I take care, because to feel the wind in my face I opened my eyes to the propellers of a twin-engine red and white swirled around me! It was a deafening sound but the wind knew me well! I was lying still in a kind of stretcher, and passing his hand over his face felt the harshness of a day's beard. How many days? I can not say, but all the treasures that he thought he had saved up to bring you were lost. Not the best way! The boxes and packages had all fallen away, and my back only three people I did not know of anywhere were occupied in a slow painful. Outside of me there was nothing, and even within that there was far, far away, to be what in your arms I I wanted to deliver. It was nothing, and even feeling it gave me the breeze so the propellers and recall briefly feel as serene and peaceful walks in the summer after dinner, watching the dogs play, listening to the cicadas and feeling the smell of hay dry and the warm earth.
The days that followed were stolen from me! I have been robbed because some of them remember not to be the constant motion, heat, sweat covered with dust, flies that were causing me itch. And runways, and endless potholed roads in vehicles that were burning with fever! I do not even remember what I ate, or even if you ate. Who will feed me? Only days later I finally had the apparent safety what my spirit needed without realizing this need. I opened my eyes wide in a ward and walls covered with blue and white tiles depicting pastoral scenes of the work in the fields. It was cool, and some women in white robes were hanging around there between the beds. When they looked at me said something in a language that is familiar to me and not one of them came in my direction. He grabbed my hand and smiled, moving his other hand through my hair. Then he turned to the other and said something more which again could not understand ... I tried but could not speak. It was as if speaking without sound, leaving others puzzled by the movements of my lips without consequence. When
leave that site never got back to who it was. I'm still relearning how to function in this new world that now seems to me most strange and brutal, and although too often remind me of your face and the life they had together the truth is that I had no more courage to seek you, my princess fragile ... Rarely sleep, like today, and these days I open this notebook in which I write and record here some of the memories that have recently come to me at night. In doing so ease a bit some of my distress, lie down to the ocean floor some of my ballast, and in a conscious way to materialize the impossible I guess I hear the same pace at which these words are here to shoot through the rotten weather, where The erasures and re-write this block poor and filthy.
In a little sun will come here. Already feel the heat scorching day is approaching, and I'll land this contract and do as I have done every day. I'll get in and out to the street. Given my current condition it takes a lot of time on this simple task, but I like going out in the morning and sit close to the market, under an old tamarind tree, and get to look all that busy assembling the bunkers and the arrival of customers. This market has the colors, smells and sounds that I think are unique, and in the midst of so many people who suffer from tiredness to go there every day to sell or buy something in the midst of so many voices, accompanied by so many people as I feel I am not alone and I get the certainty that now that the packages with all the wealth that one day you wanted to offer were lost over there, will eventually be the best is my choice. So, my love, one day you will be absolutely free to be able to look at life with the hope that is accurate. The hope I lost in that distant day when they heard the news with his arm outside the car the afternoon heat.
love you just the same way, with the same intensity. But I am no longer the same, and what remains just need peace and seek to distance themselves from all these things here, in these words, I'm pouring out day after day. Step morning on a wall opposite the market and the afternoons, when it gets too hot again, lying in my bed in the shade with the windows open for air flow, listening to the flapping of the doves who have taken refuge from the heat in the shade of my porch. Have you tried in full summer afternoon you lie down in bed with the windows open and the warm breeze running? Try it! Close your eyes and give yourself to hear the sound of the wings of doves in the eaves ...
But my God! With whom am I talking about?
(Photo: Coimbra, September 2007 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, January 25 to February 12, 2008)
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