Rolling Away

I feel you rolling away from me like an unattended four-wheeled suitcase on a ramp.

I can see you moving away right before my eyes, but it’s already too late.

I reach out, desperately trying to hold you close to me for as long as possible, but it’s no use, you’ve built up enough speed to slip away.

I begin to chase after you, but immediately realize you slipped away for a reason: I didn’t care about you enough anymore.

I couldn’t stand it anymore and I just let go.

I was kidding myself into believing I hadn’t done it on purpose, but I had.

I hope there’s someone at the bottom of the ramp to grab you, cushioning your fall or preventing it completely.

I look down and you’re almost out of sight.

I’m alone now.

I glance around me and suddenly realize that’s exactly how I feel: alone.

I look down hoping to still be able to see you, but I can’t.

You’ve left me. 

In Amber

Sunday morning I was baking pancakes. I had the mix ready and started pouring it into the warmed up frying pan, small and slightly undercooked, just how I like them.

Feeling decadent I decided I’d have them with strawberry jam instead of the usual maple syrup. I opened the jar and took a big dollop out, smearing it all over my pancakes, making sure not to leave any corner uncovered. Time to dig in.

A mosquito was buzzing around the kitchen, probably attracted to all the heat and light. I felt it buzz beside my ear and shooed it away. However, the mosquito was momentarily spellbound by the redness of my jam, a gooey red blood ready for him to gulp down greedily. Swooping down, he fell in, sinking into the jam as if it were quicksand, planted there as a trap.

I was about to finish my last pancake when I noticed what seemed to be a small mosquito so I left it on the side. It had too much jam on it anyway. I placed the plate on the counter, too lazy to wash it straight away.

Meanwhile, the mosquito was stuck, initially thriving to escape, but having realized it was no use, ceased to struggle. He was stuck in the redness as if in his own blood. A cruel death he thought, but caused by his own idiocy. The jam hardened and thickened, leaving him incarcerated as if in amber, only to be chucked into the drains later in the day, making his way through the sewers, landing somewhere, but where?

An unlucky photographer

In front of a small chapel in Cyprus, a photographer was waiting to take pictures of the bride and groom when, without warning, they burst out yelling at each other. The marriage hadn’t taken place yet.
Inside, their friends and family sat, anxiously awaiting their return in order for the ceremony to proceed.
Outside, the photographer paced back and forth, already thinking he wouldn’t be able to take any photos and consequently wouldn’t be paid. How would he explain to his wife that he’d been away all day but had received no payment? The last few months had been rough. Not as many people were getting married, or maybe they just didn’t want him as the photographer and, to save money, asked their family to take the pictures.
The couple continued to argue beside him, but he wasn’t listening to a word they were saying. It never even crossed his mind that if he had attempted to speak to them, soothing and calming them, they might have recognized that their argument was petty, hug, make up and go back inside the chapel. Alas, the photographer continued to pace side to side, overcome by his own problems. 

in The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & other stories by Tim Burton

Sugar's in Danger

There was once a ship named Sugar. Its crew was searching for a sandy beach where they could stay until the tide came in, just so they could restock the ship.

As the sun was setting they sighted the perfect spot. ‘Land Ho!’ called the sailor in the crow’s nest. They set up camp on the most remote part of the island in order to avoid danger for as long as possible. However, after being there for a while they realised there was none, so they set up permanent camp to regain their strength after the long and gruelling journey they had endured.

Rebecca was five and she always forgot to brush her teeth. Her parents weren’t usually around to tell her to do it and it wasn’t that she was a dirty young girl, she just forgot to do it.

One night she began to feel one of her teeth ache, but didn’t tell anyone so as not to worry her parents, especially as when she inspected her teeth she couldn’t see anything odd. Even so, that night she again forgot to brush her teeth.

Meanwhile, the crew had found some precious minerals in the island’s sand, so they had begun digging, when all of a sudden the area under their ship caved in, leaving it deep in the island’s interior.

The next morning Becca awoke with a searing pain in one of her teeth, and with tears in her eyes ran to the toilet to look at them in the mirror and, this time, she could see a little black spot on one of her back molars, and seizing the opportunity, decided to wake her mother, who was still home. On waking, she was startled at her daughter’s face covered in tears and felt, at the same time, guilty for not paying as much attention to her as she knew she should. She jumped up and scheduled a dentist’s appointment for that afternoon.

When there, Rebecca was told she had a cavity, so the dentist began drilling and removed what seemed to be a small object, which to him looked like a small ship. Puzzled, he presented it to the young girl, as a token for her bravery.

The crew after having descended into the pit to try and get their ship back on the water, began thinking that setting up camp had been a bad idea. Some of the men were trying to climb back up after having reached the conclusion that the ship was permanently stuck, when all of a sudden it was lifted away, as if by magic, and the space above them was promptly covered up, immersing them in darkness. The crew was doomed to never see daylight again.

A chocolate friend

I have a friend who is a witch. Her face is of white chocolate and her cape and hat of dark, mixing the sinfully low in nutritional value and the densely full of flavonoids and antioxidants.

I decided to go out for a walk with Minerva, as I decided to call her, in the palm of my hand, switching her from one to the other when they started to get sweaty, enjoying the moment to lick up her remains, as if cleaning up the mess she had created with her potions.

After hours in the sun, however, there was nothing left of her except a small dark circle on my left palm, as if she had finally perfected her disappearing spell and left only a small puddle where she had once been.

 When I got home I had a look in my chocolate box to decide who I’d be taking out the next day, and decided on a milky brown prince, thinking that maybe he would be a gentleman and wouldn’t leave me by the end of the day.

Mistaken

I smiled at you because I thought that you
Were someone else; you smiled back; and there grew
Between two strangers in a library
Something that seems like love; but you loved me
(If that's the word) because you thought that I
Was other than I was. And by and by
We found we'd been mistaken all the while
From that first glance, that first mistaken smile.

Vikram Seth

Death Wish

Can birds have a suicidal objective in life?

They swoop down into the streets,

low among the passing cars,

like torpedoes with a goal;

They twirl around in the air,

weaving feverishly between the cars,

only to vanish like greased lightning.

A death wish would explain why

looking back

I can no longer see them,

only dark marks on the tarmac.

La Reconnaissance Infinie - René Magritte

Imprint

It rises slowly, deep in the distance,

advancing at a steady pace.

I watch it unwaveringly:

A solid wall

moving towards me.

Only me.

White foam materializes

as it grows vigorously,

as if it’s seen my dangerous eyes cast upon it.

It slowly bows and begins to crumble,

only to swell to new heights.

I’ve met my match,

and been defeated,

so I move away from the shore.

My feet, deeply imprinted in the wet sand,

are swiftly drowned by the arrival of the wave.

O Carro

Perto da hora de almoço, num dia de muito calor, uma mulher passeia lentamente para casa. Deixa a mente passear sem a atar a uma trela, deixando-a correr livremente à sua frente. Quando passa por um carro, no canto do olho vê uma cadeira de bebé com o bebé ainda lá. Não parou logo e deu mais alguns passos em frente até apanhar a sua mente. Para. Dá uns passos atrás e olha para dentro do carro. Era sem dúvida alguma um bebé lá dentro. Com este calor devia estar a assar! A senhora olha à sua volta mas não vê ninguém. Sente uma profunda indignação em relação aos pais da criança e começa a gritar socorro para alguém tirar a pobre criança de dentro do carro. Ninguém aparece.

Momentos depois, um casal caminha em direcção ao carro. Param perto da porta e perguntam para que é que estava a gritar tanto e qual é que era a emergência. Eram os donos do carro. Parecia impossível. Não percebem o que se passa.

Depois de ouvirem as blasfémias da senhora tinham um sorriso na cara.

—Minha senhora, isso é apenas um boneco. A nossa filha está aqui no carrinho. 

A senhora tirou os óculos da carteira e verificou que, de facto, estava enganada e ainda bem. Pediu desculpa e continuou no seu caminho a rir-se da sua estupidez. 

Don't go far off

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda

À procura do céu

Quando tinha quatro anos o meu gato morreu. Perguntei à minha mãe para onde é que ele tinha ido e ela disse:

—Para o céu.

Estávamos no quintal, por isso olhei para cima. O céu estava coberto de nuvens.

—É tão cinzento… achas que ele está feliz?

—Estão nuvens porque não querem que vejamos o que prepararam para o Fred. Aposto que se estivessemos para além das nuvens veríamos uma enorme festa. Nesta altura o Fred está a regalar-se com uma quantidade infinita de leite morno. Vais ver que amanhã já está sol outra vez.

—Então no céu vemos e temos aquilo que mais gostamos?

—Sim, querida. Tudo e sempre que queremos.

Passados alguns meses andei de avião pela primeira vez. Não me tinha esquecido daquilo que a minha mãe me tinha dito, então estava certa que quando passássemos para lá das nuvens eu ia ver castelos fantásticos, princesas, fadas e até dragões – estava super ansiosa, aliás, estaria aos pulos se a minha mãe não me tivesse apertado tanto o cinto.

Quando o tão esperado momento chegou, o brilho nos meus olhos extinguiu-se. Era uma terra vasta, branca e vazia. Nesse momento, começei a temer a morte.

Shiny Black Crow

Already in my seat on the plane, waiting for the crew to close the door, I glanced out the window. It was a lovely day, the sun high in the blue sky: the perfect weather for flying.

While I was dreamily looking out, a black crow popped in to my line of sight. This can’t be good, I thought, for, after all, everyone’s heard of the stories in which planes have crashed because birds were sucked into their propellers, ruining them. Not really the perfection I’d envisaged for my long-awaited trip home. I decided to keep my eyes on the bird, just in case.

It hopped about right next to the plane’s wing, sometimes on it. My heart was racing as I heard the captain announce that the door was now closed and advising the cabin crew to be seated for take-off. The crow was still there, mocking me, jumping around even as the propellers gained movement. I saw that shiny black crow look up to my window, and I looked it straight in the eye, attempting to warn it it was time to leave. Not taking much noticed of my unease, it hopped close to the propeller and picked up a cracker someone must have tossed out when boarding the plane, and just like that, flew away.

I watched this scene, incredulous, before starting to chuckle to myself. I couldn’t believe I’d made such a fuss when all the poor crow wanted was a measly cracker.

Porcelain smile

I’m wearing a porcelain mask. The porcelain face is smiling and the eyes are bright and wide. Yet the face underneath isn’t the same, even if no one knows.

I’ve tried to remove the mask, but it seems to be a part of me now. People expect that daunting smile and, no matter how hard I try, if I ever say I’m not feeling well they don’t believe me, all they see is that fake smile on my face.

Attachment Theory

There was once a man who always sat down without putting his heels on the ground. He would walk on the balls of his feet, as if he were trying to levitate, removing his feet from the ground completely.

I saw him almost every day, walking around town, except it was more like dancing than walking so light was his footfall. We spoke once. I asked him why it was that he never put his heels on the ground and he answered simply:

‘I don’t? I guess a part of me thinks I don’t belong on Earth’ and, chuckling, he pranced off.

Some weeks later I ran into him again and noticed there was something different about him, but couldn’t quite place my finger on it. Then I glanced down at his feet and was awestruck – his feet weren’t touching the pavement at all. He was no longer walking around town, but floating. I didn’t know what to make of it. At that precise moment he came up to me and said:

‘Hi there! Don’t you feel like today’s going to be a good, no, wait, a great day? I sure do. I woke up feeling in harmony with the world, without a worry on my mind. I felt that if I jumped out of my window I wouldn’t even fall, but fly.’

‘I can see that’ I answered, smiling, and walked off, happy with myself as I saw I had made his lips droop and the balls of his feet lower again. He called to me, but I just carried on walking.

Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, Lisboa. 
Exposição: Fernando Pessoa, Plural como o Universo
24.04.12