Sobre os Olhos Incertos

I've been seeing you love, and your wandering eyes. They can't face mine. I've been longing for your eyes to tell me the things I need to hear to go on. I've been waiting for them to share some happiness or at least some hope. They don't seem to know where to go, and sometimes they lie, they lay on something insignificant, some empty space, like windows to your thoughts. They talk in a language I don't understand, I feel like watching a sad foreign movie without the subtitles on. I've been trying to find a connection to you, a glimpse, or whatever... but I'm left in a blank space, at open sea. It's hard to swim dear, the water is cold and so dense... its hard to move. I can't reach the shore, I'm far from the surface and I can't breath.

Where do you rest your eyes? they don't glide at mine and I'm lost and lonesome wandering thought the fog. Living in the brooms, every step away from my sanity and closer to a labyrinth, a cliff, a precipice.

I've been lost in you love. I've been lost in you. I've lost my mind. My mind.

I’m letting go
To see if you hold onto me
I’m in doubt of what is thought and what is real
In our room
Between the shapes I thought I knew
A guilty… A pillow of feathers like snow

I’ve come to listening post be on your lines
I’m all ears to gather clues and look for signs

But I can’t hear the song you sing

While you try to soothe

Why are you whispering while the bombs are falling?

Go easy on me; I can’t help what I’m doing
Go easy on me; you can’t help what I’m doing

when thoughts have out numbered spoken words
In the early hours we failed to establish
Who was hurt

most.

"Qualquer narrativa de ficção é necessária e fatalmente rápida porque, ao construir um mundo que inclui uma multiplicidade de acontecimentos e de personagens, não pode dizer tudo sobre esse mundo. Alude a ele e pede ao leitor que preencha toda uma série de lacunas. Afinal, todo texto é uma máquina preguiçosa pedindo ao leitor que faça uma parte do seu trabalho. que problema teria se um texto tivesse de dizer tudo que o receptor deve compreender - não terminaria nunca." (Umberto eco)

Você queria tanto passear pelos detalhes, passear na solidez que um acontecimento elabora, na segurança oferecida, que esqueceu de ler nas entrelinhas, esqueceu que as lacunas da minha história continuavam em você.

I've been lying around in bed all day not sure weather I should get up. Sleeping has a way of tricking time you know? I cheated myself into the future believing somehow the absence from the present would prevent me from feeling the unbearable pain of being alive. In the process of having the most terrible and the sweetest dreams to waking up I lost sense of reality, not knowing what was really worst; waking up from my nightmare into the nightmare of reality, or waking up tortured by the fantasy I still had what I lost. Overcoming, it costs too much, it costs getting over. Letting go.