Posts in Category: Articles

It’s just a moment in time.

Fingers through your hair
Breathing the same air.
Eyes deep in mine
It’s just a moment in time. 

Loving each other when no one else can.
Sooner or later it all had to end.
Meant to be is not necessarily forever.
Me and you was quite the endeavour. 

Time has come to take our separate ways.
Promise to remember all of the days.
The days you were mine.
The days we were more than aligned. 

I’m almost ready to say goodbye.
I can’t live anymore in a lie.

Please don’t make me cry. 

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Electric pain.

I recently sent myself on a journey to explore
my connection with water, which I could try
explaining but it would take too long and will
only confuse you more. 

I never thought a had a thing with water, which
is ridiculous since my body is 80% water. Then a
friend told me that a negative connection is also
a sort of connection. I never looked at it in this way. 

You know the phrase ‘like a fish out of water’?
I am like a fish out of water in water.
I can’t swim. I won’t drown. But not any better in it than a dog.
I can float, sort of. And I just let the current take me.  

And you.

You are like crab, moving two steps to the right, then
one to left, so you never really get anywhere. I would
say it doesn’t matter if we were on the same wave,
then your steps would’t count. But you are still on the
beach while I am already in the deep.

You are like a jelly fish, which I want to catch but then
my hand would slip on your surface. I give up and try
to walk away and then your tentacles wrap around me.
Electric.

Pain.

You are mostly like a shark. Minding your own business,
quiet and far away. Until you taste that taste of blood and
appear. Unlike other sharks you spice me up and only
take a small bite.

Pain. And then I never see you again. 

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Sit down next to me.

This thing I read the other day is completely
stuck in my head and boy, I have questions
and need to discuss. “The way you love is not
necessarily the same way other people love.”

Very simple and obvious but we, or maybe its
only me, seem to forget it all the time. Especially
when I am not loved the way I expect, I can
make it very difficult for myself. 

I was always ready to be in love. Like literally
always. And I’ve been there. So often, I don’t
remember each and every one of them. 

Back to the ways of loving. Question #1:

How long does it take before you realise you
are loved but just not in the way you know or
expect? Can you accept it? Should you accept
it? Even though real love does not ask questions,
lets not fool ourselves, there are questions.

So when do you draw the line and evaluate?
Or do you? 

When do you accept the differences and how
many are allowed?

Passion over everything or not?

I am always ready to fall in love. Being ready
doesn’t mean I want to. Sometimes I want to
but they don’t. But it doesn’t matter how much
you want to, they don’t call it carefully sitting
down next to love but fucking falling in it. 

So go ahead. Fall. I need to stand up first.

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Yearly Summaries

There’s a lot I can say about the past year. However nothing
new for the people who know me.           One adventure after
another. The only thing is that this past year    I experienced
everything so different than before.   It’s like I started over. I
remember   vaguely my other life before this one.          A few
times I found pieces of it, from the past life, but they seemed
so forgotten that I just dropped them and kept going. So many
first times as well as last ones. First time knowing me. I learned
to genuinely love,    myself and others. I fell in love with Paris
again, this time it was very pure, very familiar, very easy. And
now I am falling more and more in love with Amsterdam. The
most peaceful    moment of my day at the moment is when I
bike back from work through Utrechtsestraat, under a row of
Christmas lights.     And I don’t like Christmas. I love the lights
only on that street and no matter where I am I will try to bike
on that street in the evening.

One of the best days   of the year     I was sitting alone on a quiet
beach of west side of Ibiza, reading The Book of Disquiet. Or that
other day when I was walking through the Tulleries and listening
to Rachmaninov, setting an intense and overwhelming situation
for myself.    And then later, sitting in the Thalys and questioning
my choices, Simone de Beauvoir dropped it on me. The answer to
my all summer long dilemma was provided only 2 weeks before
the end of my trip…

And of course a good amount of lovers and a    better amount of
friends were a constant in this year’s affairs.        I can’t say I feel
blessed because come on,   you get to   choose   your   friends   so
obviously if you     choose poorly it’s on you.          However I feel
incredibly lucky  I met some beautiful people and I would like to
keep them for sometime. I feel like all these love lines should be
more poetic than what I have written but Jerry Seinfeld’s   voice
in my head keeps saying that poetry is just a careful selection of
words,       which don’t make you laugh at the end. And I want to
make you laugh at least a little.

As far as 2018 goes, I am happier than ever with the person I am
becoming. There are no particular resolutions on my mind. I just
hope there’s going     to be good music to play while jumping into
new realities. I hope everyone’s year was also full of adventures
and if not, well then it’s about time you do something about it.

 

Alfama

Tuesday night. Alfama. The old city of Lisbon. We are listening
to live fado in an extremely crowded restaurant, but that is how
you are supposed to experience it. We walk outside for a cigarette
with a wine glass in hand. Easy. Sky full of stars. I can hear the sound
of the waves somewhere in the distance.

Fernando Pessoa once walked these streets. This place stayed his world
no matter how far he travelled. The gallery across the corner sells paintings
made from red wine and coffee. A lot of the paintings are of Pessoa. I can’t
understand much of what the Mongolian man, the owner, is saying but he is
making us step outside to show us something. Apparently the man who used
to wash Pessoa’s shoes used to live next door.

Earlier today I heard the legend of Luis de Comoes, who was on a boat, which
crashed in the sea so he swam to the shore with one hand above water
holding his poems. Supposedly he saved them. He lived opposite of the gallery
we were standing in.

I live for moments like this.

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