Satélite

Fim de tarde.
No céu plúmbeo
A lua baça
Paira
Muito cosmograficamente
Satélite.

Desmetaforizada,
Desmitificada,
Despojada do velho segredo de melancolia,
Não é agora o golfão de cismas,
Os astros dos loucos e dos enamorados,
Mas tão-somente
Satélite.

se a base de tudo é uma boa comunicação, como pode ter me faltado palavras?

River of tears

When I read the message that morning, for sure
It brought tears to my eyes
that came down my face
just as melted sugar on a higher temperature;

The sugar... struggling not to fall from the spoon.
The tears... well, they struggled not to fall from my eyes;
they just couldn't be countained.
It was too much happiness, but actually, that was just a white lie.

Instantly, I started to remember the time
when I could hold your hand;
be sure that you are here.

To sit on the sidewalk and
have you by my side.
To sleep and wake up in the middle of the night,
look at you and have that feeling... stability.

Just when I had it all
something pulled me back to reality.
This anchor of a sailing ship.
Guess where he was sailing...

You know that feeling of emptiness, when you try not to expect anything from anyone, and even then you get so fucked up when it didn't come out the way you wanted? Yeah. That sucks.
Can't really explain all this. Is just so messed up. I shouldn't create any expectations, but is inevitable.
Poor me. I'll just keep on letting myself down.