#13 if you could,

what would you ask the one that broke your heart?

#12

My life is not the same. And it's strange to live a life that it's not yours entirely. When it doesn't fit you the same way. Like when you stay at your parents house and end up dressing something from your old closet, it still suits you (your body hasn't changed much in the last 10 years), you still remember loving that dress but it's not you anymore, it's your old you. Just like that. My life is not the same. It suits me, the patterns and the sounds, but it's not me yet, there are little stitches that still itch, some loose ends that don't look as good as it should, there's not yet any summer song like I used to have, some empty hours after the gym, some little silences.
but I already took the desert off the walls

 and now I just need somebody I can hold hands with. just that.

#11 Plans for the future

and when I say future I mean tomorrow because I only make short term plans nowadays.

1. have fresh orange juice in the balcony for breakfast
2. vote for a better world
3. have lunch with mom
4. open myself a bottle of wine and draw on the walls
5. go to bed

#10 home

A home is when your house matches you, when it's a consequence of you and not only a couple of walls with a bed and lamp. Is when your bed or your couch is a continuation of your legs and the fridge the extention of your stomach, when the floor and your feet are the same thing, when your cat is just another piece of your arm as it curls to sleep.
My home is not a place, the flowers by my bed are not flowers, my cat is not an animal, my books are not font on paper, the songs that play in my radio are not just words and guitars and drums.

My home is the place that breaths at my pace. It was always like that, even before, I just breath at a different pace now.

#9 hey baby, I want you no harm

Never did, never will.
And despite the fact that I truely think that your decision was wrong, that both of us were better of together with the yellow cat and the flowers and the poetry, despite the fact that I think that your move was an act of  cowardice, I still love you.
And I hope you're happy, not really happy like I was a burden an your shoulders, but happy like this is what I really wanted right now - pin-ups, porn and some trash.
And I will never tell you how many times a day I want to text you about some funny moment of my life, how much I would like to share this couch (our couch?) with you, and our cat (my cat now!) and my dreams (were they ever our dreams?) and talk with you, talk about anything...but I won't tell you. or how many times I still think that you would love to be here right now, in the balcony, with a glass of wine, while I read or draw, I won't.
I'm mostly happy with my life now. With all the good things you chose not to see in me, or just find it naif or silly and that I always knew it would be helpfull one day.
I will always miss you, my dead loved one and, just so you know, killing you was just an act of mercy to keep you alive, just as you were, beautiful, bearless and soft.
See you in 2046, if we ever get there by ourselves.
Please, do plant your good days.

#8 plant the days, early in the morning

somedays should be planted, early in the morning.
you should listen to the day first words and, if they're good, plant it immediately.
if before 10am a handsome french man invites you to dance, and before 11am a tall green eye portuguese tells you that you should loose up your hair cos it looks so good that way, you should plant that day.
doesn't really matter if right after that you break your favourite hand painted mug and spill all the coffee on your brand new sweater and when you try to clean the mess you end up breaking the mop, your day was planted before that.
and when by noon you decide to go downstairs to buy a new mop and you pass by the flower stand, do not resist, buy yourself a bouquet. and don't think that he used to buy you flowers, years ago, and you liked it so much, buy yourself the flowers. and then you get home and you find out that your flatmate bought you flowers you feel even better and you know that it was because you planted that day, from early morning and now you have the house full of flowers and compliments on your hair and silly dances in your feet and your life is the perfect place to live.

#7 oh please, let me put on my red shoes

you know that your life is good when a good looking stranger asks you if you want to dance with him before 10am

#6 no need to say

that you can take Caetano, but Chico is mine

#5 Dylan is mine

I'm better now.

Most of the pain is gone.

The sadness sometimes knocks on the door, mainly at the end of the day, after a picnic or a beer at the beach and then I miss us, but I don't miss you anymore. The flowers helped. The working out, the books, the friends, the family, taking pictures, going out, going out of the daily life you hated and still promoted... it's like you died, it's liking someone that doesn't exist anymore and making peace with it.  i still check your blog on random days and I see the pin-ups and the darkside of the moon and I think - he's dead, poor boy...

I get mad once in a while, but only once in a while and that's ok. it's only when I hear that your choise is Dylan. well, Dylan is mine. has always been. dead people shouldn't steal and you, music boy, sir, should know that.

but it's ok, Spring is still in the beggining, more flowers will bloom and my balcony will still be a perfect place for lunch and as long as nobody tells me that you're into Pulp again, or that your favourite song is Valsinha, I'll continue with my peace