Depois de ti

(Para a minha princesa Lea Lipková)

Ter-te visto no aeroporto logo à chegada, ter-te dito algumas palavras incertas... Ambos estávamos cansados, mas ainda assim alguma fagulha incendiou uma pilha de lenha esquecida dentro de cada um de nós.

Ter feito aquela longa viagem pelo escuro, para aquele lugar desconhecido e longínquo, em silêncio, não sabendo sequer o que estaria à nossa espera no outro lado da noite.

Ter-te visto exausta à meia-noite naquela paragem para café no meio de bosques escuros, ouvindo sons de corujas e outras criaturas noctívagas. O vento gelado quase esculpia cicatrizes nos nossos rostos.

Ter-te visto ensonada na manhã seguinte, olhos pequeninos e tão verdes, a tua face ainda mostrando as cores quentes dos sonhos. Ter saído para o frio de novo, na cidade ex-soviética...

Termos começado a conversar após o jantar, termos bebido em demasia... Ter-te ouvido dizer que acordaste ouvindo alguém cantar no duche no quarto imediatamente acima do teu. Ter-me apercebido que era eu quem te acordara. Quem me dera cantar-te para sempre...

Ter tocado o teu cabelo pela primeira vez, madrugada dentro, gelados no jardim fronteiro à igreja, ter segurado na minha a tua pequenina mão quente. Ter sentido a humidade dos teus lábios, o aroma da tua respiração, o toque da tua língua, quando ambos estávamos tão longe, quando ambos estávamos tão incertos, quando ambos nos encontrávamos tão vivos...

Ter-te beijado. Ter-te beijado e ter sentido uma vez mais o meu coração enviar sangue de novo para as artérias, todo o meu ser funcionando na perfeição como a mais sofisticada peça de maquinaria. Ter sentido alegria, ali mesmo, na Europa de leste. Ter pressentido o teu corpo forçando lentamente caminho para o meu, e depois mais e mais... Queres entrar?

Ter sabido que não iria durar, ter tentado ficar apenas com o melhor daquilo que cada um dos dois tinha para oferecer ao outro... Termo-nos preparado para o adeus.

Ter desejado tanto que o tempo ficasse quieto por alguns momentos, dias, horas. Ter aceite tudo o que ele nos pudesse dar ao longo daquele período... Ter sentido os teus braços em volta do meu corpo na noite. Ter amado.

Ter feito a viagem de regresso em lugares separados, sonolentos e receosos das palavras. Ter-te levado ao aeroporto, ter estado ali à espera de um milagre que nunca viria. Teres de te ir embora e eu de te deixar ali com a tua bagagem...

Ter envolvido os teus ombros apenas mais uma vez, ter olhado para os teus olhos apenas mais uma vez, ter tocado nos teus cabelos... Ter desejado que ali estivéssemos apenas nós dois, ter-te dado um último beijo, breve, dorido. Ter-te dito algumas palavras órfãs e me dirigir para a saída para não mais olhar para ti. Ter perdido...

Não o trocava por nada deste mundo.

(Fotografia: Rézekne, Letónia, 28 de Setembro de 2008 / Texto: Tomar, Portugal, 12 de Outubro de 2008)

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Underwater

How many of us are still breathing? Can you really hear me? Are we still alive?

We’ve all walked that extra mile, we’ve all made dreams come true either by writing, painting, sculpting, writing music or making science. It’s true. And in those dreams we’ve tried to hold to each other’s arms. I guess we’re here for some reason, although I can’t quite get it. Not yet anyway. But do we still have the time to do it?

From now on, if time makes it easy on us all, we can go on honouring our existences and dreams. Be what you write about. Be as beautiful as your paintings. Be as everlasting as your sculptures. Be as hypnotic as your songs. Be what you believe. Oh God, give us time!

Without all of us this place would be really dull and vain. Who else would be here, anyway, prepared for so much beauty, to contemplate it, to understand it, to cherish and make it blossom? It would not be a waste, but a shame. Meanwhile, maybe the time is coming when we’ll have to let go of it. Water is already reaching my neck, and maybe the time has come for us to close our eyes.

(Photography: Riga, Latvia, October 2nd, 2008 / Text: Tomar, Portugal, October 27th, 2008)

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If this world was made out from paper the sun could easily burn it down

(To my friend Ioana Bohalteanu Caramiziu and her beautiful world)

Sometimes, when I’m alone, the strangest thing happens. When I look to a given point, doesn’t matter what or when, either in the street or indoor, I feel like I’m entering a totally different space and time, a totally different world, with beings totally different from you and me. When that happens I’m always conscious of everything around me, I never loose awareness of where I am. It’s only that in those moments I live, for a few seconds or minutes, in two separate and very distinct realities. It usually happens when I have the sun in front of me and its glare penetrates through my eyes directly into the inner part of my body. Even when it’s cold I can feel the warmth of that other place to which I travel.

Basically, it’s very much like this one. I can’t even tell why I feel time in there is not the same as the one in here, it’s just something I feel without being able to explain. But I do feel privileged to be able to visit that place every now and then, to make me remind, to make me feel more in touch with the human part of me, to make me dream and relax for a little while.

In there I never had the chance to speak with no one. I tried but never succeeded, even though it’s a world full of beautiful beings just like you and me, but different. They’re so ethereal and fragile, like butterflies in summer prairies, like they’re made out from paper tissues with all the colours available. Not at all like us, so strong, so tough, so everlasting and resilient.

Today I went there one more time, only if just for a few seconds. It was in the afternoon and I was in a coffee table in a square. The autumn sun was making damage to my eyes and the people were crowding the place, touching my arms and back and making me feel uncomfortable. I stared up, to the cloudless sky and to the sun, and suddenly I was taken again from here to that place. It was all very brief, but in front of me there was this woman, in red, so beautiful and delicate, made out from paper. In those few seconds I realised how I could crush her but never would. In those few seconds I realised how violent we are. In those few seconds I wanted to kiss her but never could. In those few seconds I realised how lonely we all are in this earth. In those few seconds I understood finally why they exist: to make us remind all we could be if we really tried.

(Photograph: Rézekne-Daugavpils trip, Latvia, September 29th, 2008 / Text: Tomar, Portugal, October 19th, 2008)

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