English
Sometimes I wake up with the aching body of sleeping so shrunken in myself. It seems that I want to fill my empty body with my own body.
Sometimes my heart races and I have the distinct impression that I’m going to lose my breath. It looks like he wants to fill with empty heartbeat.
Sometimes I feel my head full of light, as if I had eaten a lamp. It seems that the brain wants to fill with the imaginary the dreams that were stolen.
Sometimes I feel so cold that the weight of the blankets and heavy clothes make me feel bigger. It seems like my skin wants to freeze the touches that were left over from the past.
Sometimes my eyes shine so bright that I lose myself. It seems that I want to sink into imaginary images to lose the focus of the past.
Sometimes I cry so much that my eyes leap from the face. It seems that a river comes as a purifier of sorrows and pains.
Sometimes I feel so much pleasure that I embrace my prince. It seems that my body becomes hermaphrodite in the attempt to deprive itself of new feelings.
Sometimes my body forgets that there is pleasure. It seems that all my organs enter into an agreement of silence to hear the whispers of the past.
Sometimes I go staggering like I’m drunk. It seems that my body is drunk with flavors in an attempt to perpetuate the past.
Sometimes the steady steps lead me into the future. It seems that a supernatural force carries me and makes me feel whole.
Sometimes I’m not hungry. It seems that my body feeds on the love that filled so many spaces.
Sometimes like so much it seems like I’m going to explode. It seems like my body holds all kinds of food that will momentarily make every inch steal with pleasure and blow the past stuck in every cell.
Sometimes my nose stops feeling the scent of life. It seems that the nostrils are closed to the present and make perpetuate in every inch of the head the numerous smells of the past.
Sometimes olfaction acts alone. It seems that all the scents of the world permeate my heart in a crazy attempt to create new files.
Sometimes it seems that I have separated myself, but in reality I have separated
myself from the imaginary figure I have created to live with me.
The one who lived left the space empty even before I had noticed that I had lost.
This post is also available in:
Português
