Falling

    In a random night, very deep in the ocean, the colors were changing. For a long time, the lights from high above were trying to penetrate the deep dark ocean, but it was one of the hardest things they could ever do. The depths of the ocean only knew light many eras ago, but the damage caused by those lights were too deep to be fixed, so the deep dark ocean kept himself, in silence, running away from the beauty and the violence from the stunning light of the sun.
    For years, the deep dark ocean remained into himself, always finding a way to forbid even the most delicated ray of light of touching its bottom. It seemed the right thing, however, there was a factor which was being ignored, and it couldn't be ignored. The factor was... that the ocean, ever since its formation, always dreamed about the sun, and loved its light, its warmth. And in a very beautiful day, the sun, even it being as impossible as it was, managed a way to get closer to the deep dark ocean, and him, surprised, didn't have the time to close himself, not even the surface. Indeed, the deep dark ocean had been thinking about the sun for a long time, because its importance had been revealing itself for him, day after day, together with his need of the sun's presence. He had beautiful dreams about its presence, even though he did not name it "the sun", it was only a beautiful, loving and shapeless presence.
    So, when the deep dark ocean felt the sun so close, and realized how helpless he was, he drowned into his eldest and deepest fears, bleeding out once more for his past, afraid of all the injury the warmth of the sun could cause him, once more. In despair, he struggled with every single thought, every single tear and nightmare he kept in his own depths, until a nice, gentle siren came from his surface, swimming to his very bottom, and sang to him the song he needed to hear. She sang for a long time, bringing tears to his face, yet, stroking his hair, singing in a lullaby tone. When she was done singing, he smiled, his face still stained with tears from long ago, but yet smiling, hurting infinitely, finally with bravery. He said farewell to the siren, thanking her for everything, and stared at the sun, for the first time, directly, bravely.
    "With time, perhaps, we shall be together. I am here, for us, and if our scars can be healed by ourselves, together, I know that only time can tell, and I hope you do, too."
    With a smile, he opened a tiny slit for the sun, almost invisible, but the sun saw it. With a deep breath, they both looked into each other, and smiled, waiting - waiting, and letting the rivers flow.

Depois

Era irônico e desrespeitoso, mas tudo estava exatamente igual estava há algum tempo atrás, antes que o tempo mudasse, antes que tudo nunca mais pudesse ser o mesmo. O pão ainda era assado, as horas sucediam-se ininterruptamente, crianças iam para a escola, mães e pais iam trabalhar, namorados se beijavam, riam, choravam, cafeterias eram abertas, café da manhã era preparado, luzes eram ligadas,
portas batendo
cafeteira roncando
torneira ligada
tudo tudo funcionando perfeitamente bem, ironicamente bem, a programação da televisão em seu curso habitual, buzinas soando, ônibus pegando e largando passageiros, pessoas correndo para não se atrasar, esquecendo de livros, chaves, relógios, um brinco sobre a mesa, outro na orelha esquerda, um relatório importante embaixo do braço amassa levemente mas tem conserto tudo tem conserto menos
ah sim

Em algum lugar alguém adormeceu com a cabeça doendo, adormeceu em meio ao pranto. Quando ele acordar, tudo estará funcionando perfeita e desrespeitosamente bem, com todos os exemplos acima citados e tantos outros que talvez sejam ainda piores. Nada nesse mundo é capaz de sentir o quão absurda a ideia de seguir-em-frente-e-superar pode ser, nada a não ser o oceano. Ele sim encerra em si tudo, sem se tornar mais fraco - muito pelo contrário - e embala em seu conforto de beleza infindável tudo que se perdeu, a inocência a esperança os medos as brigas o riso a alegria a chance Lily, Joseph, Frank, Brian, George, Danny, Thomas, Mary, Amy, Bonnie, Debra, Anne, Sirius
todos eles em silêncio
todos em melodia

E a menininha, de mãos dadas com o meninho, olha o mar grande imenso lindo lindo, infinitamente azul, abrigando todos, abrigando deles também o que havia de melhor e que talvez algum dia pudesse vir à superfície. O mar, um dos únicos seres no mundo capazes de abranger a morte, respeitá-la e enfrentá-la como se deve, de fato. Enquanto o sol sobe outra vez e a praia se enche de gente e as pessoas trabalham e os carros poluem e a vida segue infinitamente irônica.

Mikrokosmos XXXIX

    Ao longe, ele podia vê-la sentada num banco sob as árvores. Estranhamente, ela não estava lendo um livro, o que só fez com que a sensação de que alguma coisa estava muito errada aumentasse nele. Sem perceber, apressou o passo em sua direção, e depois de um longo momento ela o olhou, finalmente percebendo-o. Quando ele se aproximou, ela não conseguiu dizer nada. Levantou-se e pegou em suas mãos, enquanto ele a olhava, tentando compreender qualquer coisa que fosse, que diabos estava tão errado para deixá-la de olhos marejados. Na verdade, ele podia sentir o que havia de errado, mas não queria admitir isso. Há um mês atrás, ela ainda era uma amiga que ele via pouco, porém pela qual tinha um enorme afeto. Então aconteceram um monte de coisas e ali eles estavam e, repentinamente, os sonhos que o haviam dominado pelo último mês e, ele tinha de admitir, os devaneios de anos atrás, todos eles estavam acabando numa tarde tranquila, de começo de verão.
    - Eu... Nós não... Bem, eu...
    A voz dela estava embargada e tão baixa que ele tinha de se esforçar para compreendê-la - quando, no entanto, já compreendera tudo muito antes de vê-la, simplesmente pelo tom de sua voz ao telefone. Observou-a longamente por uma última vez, os cabelos finos esvoaçando ligeiramente em sua fronte, as sardas pequenas por todo o rosto, os olhos escuros, bonitos. Num impulso, deu-lhe um longo beijo na bochecha e simplesmente saiu dali, caminhando rápido, querendo olhar para trás mas sabendo que não podia, se queria manter-se digno e realmente conseguir ir embora. Então era assim que acabava: em um momento, eles estavam tão próximos que ele sentia que poderia fazer qualquer coisa, dizer-lhe qualquer coisa, porque tinham tudo pela frente, e no instante seguinte ele estava indo embora rápido, tentando firmemente lembrar da voz áspera de seu pai dizendo que homens não choram, nem gostam de poesia, porém era inútil tentar; nem mil anos de severa educação poderiam fazer com que ele perdesse toda a poesia que existia em seu interior mais profundo.
    No entanto, se ele houvesse, por um momento sequer, olhado para trás, poderia talvez ter sonhado com a verdade. Como dizer a ele que tudo aquilo era bom demais para ela, que ela vinha de um mundo onde tais coisas não existiam? Como explicar-lhe que ele era puro demais, perfeito demais para ser tocado por ela, que não sabia passar nem um dia sem machucar nem que fosse a si própria? Antes de se envolver com ele, ela não sabia a dimensão de sua beleza, tampouco sonhava que existisse alguém assim no mundo - e, de certa forma, tanta perfeição era insuportável, não importa o quanto ela pudesse ter sonhado com isso. Como agir quando a realidade se mostra ser ainda mais bonita do que nossos sonhos? Tentando não remoer tudo isso, ela ainda permaneceu no banco por um longo tempo, antes de se recompor e tentar voltar para casa. Tinha de ser assim: um melhor amigo que também pudesse ser seu namorado, uma pessoa com quem compartilhar o tempo e a arte, eram sonhos muito altos que não podiam fazer bem, porque a vida não era assim. Tentando se resignar ao que nunca existiria, ela foi embora, sem perceber que estava mudando, que toda a sua vida estava mudando. E, em breve, tudo que ela jamais sonhara seria possível e real. Com ele.

Mikrokosmos XXXVIII

    - "...o pranto exausto, aliviado, de uma criança que ficara perdida durante tempo demais, sofrera muito e finalmente estava mais uma vez em segurança."
    - Por que você está citando Stephen King? - perguntou ela sorrindo, levantando-se da cama para ir olhar as fotos que ele estava arrumando. Ele não respondeu, apenas lhe entregou a foto que tinha em sua mão.
    No verso da foto, na caligrafia dela, estava o trecho que ele acabara de ler. Ela virou a foto, mas isso era desnecessário: lembrava-se perfeitamente que havia escrito isso atrás da foto que fora tirada na primeira noite em que saíram como, oficialmente, namorados. Ela estava com os cabelos presos e ele a abraçava forte; ela sorria mais com os olhos do que com a boca, como de costume, ambos com casacos pretos e pesados de inverno. Ainda que houvessem se passado anos desde que a foto fora tirada, e mais alguns desde que ela transcrevera o trecho d'As Terras Devastadas no verso da foto, ela ainda se sentia da mesma forma. Obviamente, estava mais habituada à segurança agora, mas ainda não sabia o que fazer quando algo, por menor que fosse, dava errado e a possibilidade de perdê-lo se tornava real. Ele a ajudara a se recompor, a ter uma razão para viver por si própria outra vez, porém sem tê-lo por perto, toda a estabilidade, toda a possível beleza e poesia se esvairia num átimo.
    Aproximando-se, ele a perscrutava em silêncio, uma pergunta muda em seus olhos, que não queriam acreditar, tampouco compreender a extensão do que havia lido. Num súbito lampejo de compreensão, ele disse:
    - Eu prometi que cuidaria de você, lembra? Prometi que não te deixaria cair outra vez e...
    Ela concordava com a cabeça, tentando disfarçar o quão nua se sentia naquele instante, quando seus medos e seus sentimentos mais bem guardados pareciam vir à tona por uma simples transcrição. Ela abriu e fechou a boca, entretanto não possuía palavras, simplesmente não possuía. Deixou que ele a abraçasse por um longo tempo e então, sem perceber, sussurrou:
    - Roland...
    Ele parou de acariciar os cabelos dela, surpreso, e a olhou. Podia ver nela uma criança tão perdida o quanto Jake, mas tão determinada em seguir em frente o quanto ele. Comovido por lembrar-se como, apesar de possuírem formas diferentes, o amor deles se assemelhava com o de Jake e de Roland, ele lhe afastou os cabelos do rosto com cuidado, sussurrando outra vez:
    - Eu nunca vou te deixar cair. Nunca mais.
    E ela soube que ele dizia a verdade. Era ka-tet, só podia ser ka-tet. Por um longo tempo ele continuou ali, apenas a abraçá-la e acariciar a filha deles, ainda dentro da barriga dela. Nenhum dos dois poderia ter jamais realmente pensado que tudo fosse acabar daquele modo, no entanto daquele modo tudo estava, e era assim que deveria ser. Wyrd bið ful aræd.

Little Rain

    - I failed, I know - she took a deep breath, trying to disguise the tears. - When I was a kid, I remember looking at you with those bitches, and all I could think was that I would be better for you.
    - Better? - he asked, smiling as she couldn't see him, with her eyes looking down.
    - Yes, you know... Well, I'd give you more than good sex and trouble, I kept promising to myself I'd be deserving of you, no matter how badly they used to talk of you. These women weren't good people, I could sense this, and none of them cared about you, not really, I'm sorry to say.
    - You're being protective, once more - said him, and by the little tone of amusement that could be heard in his voice, she looked into him. In spite of trying to stay serious, she could see a smile in his eyes, a shadow of happiness and/or hope in those amazing blue eyes. Who saw him with that expression, could never guess how violent and angry he could be sometimes, but most of people didn't know him this way, the way she loved, the loving man with that ginger and nifty mustache, which could spend hours just stroking her hair, which was so slim and sleek as his that could be perfectly blended with his, as if it was only one's hair. The man who used that strong hands to stroke her with the same passion which he used on the piano... No, no one else knew this man, the man she truly love and that he always kept hidden to most of people. Perhaps, she had spent way too much time away from him, listening too much to people who just knew the bad side of him, and that was why she had made so many mistakes.
    - I have to be protective, at least - she said, truly sad. - At least that, I owe you. And you don't even have to start to yell at me, I know quite well that all my mistakes are unforgivable, and I have been the greatest bitch you ever met, because you were never bad for me and yet I left you. I turned out to be even worse than those bitches I hated so much in my childhood, look at that - she gave a bitter smile, looking to the street, where people were walking completely not worried, all of them without a clue of how it was to be as sorry as she was. All she wanted to do was to go away, since she couldn't go back in time to fix it all up, and she knew that there was no hope of forgiveness, she didn't deserve it, and he was quite right at it. However, she wouldn't cry in front of him. She had came to tell him that she was finally aware of her own mistakes, and it was harder than she could imagine, but she did it. After a long silence, while she was deciding herself to go home, he said something, carefully.
    - You're not worse. You're better.
    She looked at him, thinking she had misheard his words. Yet, he was looking at her deeply, with some sort of hidden tenderness in his gesture.
    - You don't have to try to make me feel better, my dear - she smiled, taking his hand. - Thank you a lot, but I know I'm the wrong one here.
    She seemed very touched by what she thought that he had done, but she was wrong about his intentions.
    - Yes, you're the wrong one here, but not about our past - he gave a little smile. - A bit, yes, but that's not what I'm talking about. You're wrong about all those bitches - they both laughed at the way he said that word -, because you are, yes, way better than they could ever be. None of them ever had the decency of coming here and admiting their mistakes, none of them ever loved me enough to understand my anger, my jealousy, and even less to care about how I was doing, after they had their lifes put back together. So, no, you're not like them. You are my true wife. You.
    - What are you saying...? - asked her, almost without voice, her tears threatening to fall down her face at anytime. He pressed her hand gently, yet strongly, the hand in which their wedding's ring was still in. Suddenly, the little girl that used to say that she couldn't wait to grow up and marry him was there again; that little five years old child that loved the man he already was back then, and used to run happier than ever to his lap, everytime they met.
    - I'm saying that I'm an old man - started him, surprisingly touched by everything -, just an old man who can't affort to keep his old and stupid pride. Yes, you've been a bitch, but I always loved bitches - she laughed, in discreet tears - and I know, I always knew that, if there's a woman who loves me, that would be you. It's odd, but I don't think I could ever regret this. So, all this bullshit is to say that I forgive you and, I don't really know if it was your intention, but I want you to come back home with me. I have a party to plan, you know, and I'll need your help.
    She didn't have the courage to kiss him, because it was all too unreal for her to believe in. However, when he standed up, she embraced him, without letting him go as they went out of the coffee house and walked down the streets. As a little child, she kept holding him, as if he was a good dream that would flee away, so she hold him really tight against her, ignoring the rain, the people, everything. It was just a little rain, after all. And peace.

Little Wing

    The sound of breaking glass woke her up. She sat on the bed quickly, but it was only him breaking some bottles in their bedroom. She laid down again, asking calmly:
    - What's wrong, love?
    - I dreamt you were fucking some bastard - he said, angry.
    - It was just a bad dream, come back to bed honey - she was speaking with her eyes closed, barely awake. The sun light wasn't so bad because of the curtains, but yet it was sure that the day was, at least, in its middle. It was way too early for them to wake up, but he didn't seem to come back to bed. Resigning herself, she sat once more and looked at him. His ginger hair was a mess, and he walked through the room, almost cutting his feet with the broken glass on the floor. His mind was clearly far away, even though his thoughts were all about her and some random man above her. It drove him insane, and he felt like he could hit her to death, if it was really truth.  However, she has always been with him, even when he had to travel, even we he lost everything. Why, then, this sudden terror of losing her? He wasn't the kind of man which loves a woman this way.
    - What was so real in this dream, dear? - she got closer to him, without touching him. - Was it some guy we know?
    - No, that's not the problem - he shook his had, still thoughtful. - You.. You were prostituting yourself.
    - I'm sorry, what? - asked her, surprised.
    - Not in the usual way - said him quickly. - But way worse. I don't know how, but I knew you where fucking him just because... well, because of the "life" he gave you. You know, all that rubbish about a serious and very responsible life, with everything very well structured, from the gifts of christmas to when you would have kids and stuff like that... You were fucking for a image of yourself. That's the problem.
    Now, she was the one thoughtful. Oddly, she could understand everything he told her. The image of a "good" woman, with a well structured life, approved by everyone she knew, a pride for everyone. It makes sense, she thought. But that was a dirty and ridiculous thing for her, and her deepest hope was that she would never find it decent. That ginger, middle-aged and insane man who was walking through their room, completely worried by a dream, was the man she had been always in love with, her childhood dream, even though he wasn't a dream at all. Yes, he could be violent, lunatic and depressed, however, no one else had his beautiful eyes, his strong voice, his way of embosom her hair, hold her, give her as much pleasure as a man could give... and more than that, no one else sang with her on the lap when she was only a child, making her believe in better days, no matter how wrong they could sound for everyone else. He was, secretly, a paradise for her, and even the most perfect prince couldn't replace that.
    - It was just a bad dream - said her, strongly now, touching his shoulder. - Now get naked and lay down, I'll make you feel better.
    He looked at her eyes deeply, for a long moment, as if he could read the truth behind her words. After a while, he seemed satisfied, and so he obeyed her, getting naked into the bed, while she put a Led Zeppelin's cd and started to dance to him, accompanying the guitar flood, getting naked almost lazily, yet doing things in the way he liked. For him, she would always be a pretty good dancer, and when she were dancing on him, the bad dream was long forgotten. All they needed to do was to give themselves entirely for each other, and that was the way things were always going to be. Until the dream comes true.