é quando queremos dizer sim, mas nos obrigamos a dizer não. é quando nos queremos agarrar a alguém e chorar desalmadamente até que a dor pare, mas mordemos o lábio, lutamos contra as lágrimas e levantamos o queixo 'não se passa nada'. é quando queremos ser frágeis, pequenos, insignificantes, sem obrigações e com alguém sempre ao pé de nós que nos dê a mão, mas dizemos que somos capazes e que vamos fazer as coisas sozinhos. é quando doí tanto que não conseguimos respirar mas levantamo-nos e seguimos em frente. é quando nem sequer conseguimos falar, mas forçamos as palavras a sair.

é quando...
é quando...

breathing

It's cold. My first impression is of how cold it is. It wasn't like this before, was it? I certainly don't remember it being so cold before. But then again, I wasn't really paying attention - the cold, the warmth, it never really matters does it? Not when we're happy anyway. And we were. Happy. Joking about in our day to day nothingness. Small senseless things that could easily mean nothing. But they don't, do they? Mean nothing? Not when we're not alone anyway.

The second thing I noticed was that I couldn't hear you breathing. I try my best to hear something, holding my own already ragged breath for a small eternity, but there's only silence. No, not silence. The absence of your breathing. By this moment, I become aware of my own heart, drumming loudly at my ears, drowning the other noises. And next, I taste the panic, the bitter bitter panic, as the ominous thoughts make their way to my head. I try to move. To get a glimpse. To scream. For you. I need to see you. I have to see you. I need some sort of confirmation. But my body doesn't react, and I can't move. All I have is the absence of your breathing.

The minutes stretch on an on, in an eternity of seconds. It feels like hours before I hear the sirens. Again, I try to scream, let them know we're here. And again my body refuses to cooperate. My throat feels like it's closed, unable to produce sound. All there's left to do is lie there, watching as the action happens all around us. The EMTs free us from the mess of broken metal we're stuck into. And finally, I feel free.

I focus on one of the EMTs, struggling with my closed throat to get some words out "What about him? Is he okay?" my voice doesn't sound like my own, raspy and cracking. They don't respond, only exchanging glance as they continue to fuss over me. "Is he even alive?" my voice is stronger now, but it still sounds foreign. Fumbling with my body, I managed to grab hold of the closest wrist. Begging for some sort of response.

"Miss, you need to calm down" he says quietly as he covers my nose and mouth with an oxygen mask. His eyes speak volumes though. I do as I am told and close my eyes as they heave me into the ambulance. Fighting back the tears as much as can.

God. Please.
Let me die.

muito tempo

tempo demais...

entristece-me voltar aqui e ver que já se passaram dois anos.
entristece-me mais pensar que foram dois anos sem escrever.

gostava de saber onde se meteu a francisca que escrevia contos nas aulas... gostava mesmo.

falta de tempo, mas acima de tudo, falta de musa...

tem de voltar, espero.

vai voltar.

sooner rather than later.