Thoughts & Strawberries

9 12 2017




It’s still afternoon, São Paulo looks like a greenhouse. I look with some disdain to a wet, sultry and gray landscape. These colorful, crowded, huddled and wet concrete walls that I see now strangely brings me to the strawberries just about to rot in the fridge. Strawberries that I choose, strawberries that we didn’t eat, strawberries that I eat, now.

You know, the act of eating is in itself an almost sadistic pleasure. It involves turning into tasty peaces something that just a while ago fed ours eyes and served our conceited concept of food chain.

In the middle of nowhere, I, sadistic as I am, eat. I chew, delight myself with the almost moldy strawberries. One part of me, tastes your pain with unpleasuring, the other part regurgitates mine.

When I look to my pain, I realize that it stumbles on guilt. Yes, there’s still a lot of guilt around. I declared myself guilty without any effort on your part. I blame myself for have believed, for thinking that I’m pathetic in all the love that overflows of me, even now, when I decide to write this words. At the same time, I feel guilty for feeling guilty about all of this. Because I shouldn’t be guilty to love someone wonderful as you are. But I’m so guilty to don’t realize before that you always have been saying about the different steps and showing to me that we don’t have the chemistry, the ‘feeling’ that you are looking for and etc…

I’m here, also thinking about throwing myself in the “what ifs” that we said to each other in our last days here. And I feel sorry to don’t telling to myself with the necessary awareness, that you obviously don’t wish me. And then I try to find the taste of this morning in the strawberries that you let rot in the midst of an absurd fear to be happy and an abysmal distance.

In the end, I have so much to be grateful or to thank you for these experience. And yes, I could hate you, making up zillions of artificial imperfections that, deep down, you don’t have. I could even say that I don’t love you anymore and move on, but just for today, in the middle of this faded and sultry day in São Paulo, let’s let ‘Bossa Nova’ play on the record player to clear up what’s left here besides the strawberries that we are choosing to let rot.



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