While contemplating the crumbling of my youth, I think of songs which once made sense. Words expressing the pointless sorrows.
Drums and guitars, never too loud or too insistent, telling me to recoil or expand. Keyboards providing me shelter or direction.
The heart that hoped feels battered.The rain falling outside sounds, on the roof, like fire burning the Cerrado. It will probably bring new uninvited plants to our garden. Like the Heliconia that months ago was just a single leaf sprouting across the red dirt. That was right before we hired that gardener who killed the grass. We still hope it will miraculously grow green once more. I don’t know. I have no more money, disposition or time to seriously think about it. I have no time.
I would like to see the next intruder blooming in the garden though. I wish for something as unique as the Heliconia. If that is in fact what it is. I wish for something beautiful.
I breathe with difficulty and nothing has ever been as I had planned. Has it? And maybe we should not watch so many romantic movies. Maybe we should not listen to so many love songs. I’ve listened to countless love songs. I am to blame. I remember to have loved holding hands and being pulled near a body who wished no distance. I had almost forgotten all that. I vow not to listen to love songs anymore.
I feel the lump in my throat. It has not been there for quite a while, but it’s back. It seems to vanish when I swallow the spit in my mouth. It moves up again and remains there obstructing the passage of air. Now it’s late, very late, and all is silence. I write about the crumbling of my youth on the touchscreen of an IPhone which will still be here even when I cease to be.
Do not wish intruders to grow in your garden. They're usually weed, unwanted and fast growing. They destroy our gardens, and we don't want them because they don't need us.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful garden needs nurturing and care. So don't wish for anything to grow, but the things you actually want.