Alone in Kyoto

These weeks I'm feeling miserably alone.
These nights I crave for something I don't really know what it is.
There's no one aligned with my thoughts.
No one whom I really belong to. I think I don't belong to anyone indeed, not anymore. I'm not necessary to no one. And shouldn't be, either.

These nights I'm a dreamhunter. I seek for sleep and slip away from all that is dirty and unfair and illogical and boring and frustrating and ugly, and foul and frightening. I slip away from the eyes of the malnourished children, and the arrogant riches, the ill-doers, and the fools like myself.

But mostly, I think, I wanna melt away from this loneliness that brokes my heart.

I feel Alone in Kyoto. Looking trough the window all the time. Trying to undestand the people who comes and goes in the sidewalks, cafes, trying to extract the beauty I used to see in the world and that I know it's out there, everywhere. I can't see it these days.

I'm tired and lonely. And the sadness fills in, creeping and infiltrating in my mind like a steady and cool wind who sweeps out all the dust and leaves only a steryle ground behind. A place where nothing grows. No desire, no reaction. Maybe I feel less pain, this way.

I don't wanna grow up, and I'm feeling like I'm inside a cage made of responsibilities and determinations. Be cool, be good, be preety, be wealthy, be smart, be intelligent, be honest, be fair, be frindly, be loved, be.

And sometimes I wish upon the stars I so often look in the sky for the moments when I can be just nothing and have nothing and fear nothing, and feel nothing.

The world seems too heavy, too big, too dark and dangerous, and I... I'm only a believing child.

The Children of the World

Hoje acabou meu último frasco de The Children of the World.

Acho que vou guardá-lo para sempre.

The Children... É uma deo colônia que meu pai usava de vez em quando; quando ele soube que eu gostava muito, ele me dava vidro após vidro, e eu seguia feliz, trazendo em meu cheiro uma marca dele. Como se tantas coisas em mim já não o lembrassem; meu corpo, meus sentimentos, meus pensamentos.

Depois que ele morreu eu nunca mais encontrei para comprar, o perfume era uma série limitada feita para a Unicef en ayuda a los niños de américa latina y caribe.

Mais um objeto para ficar comigo para sempre, entre outras sombras de minha memória.