- And if you remember all this, the punishment has not to be so terrible.
William Faulkner
And it seems that not even in my dreams I can find you. Your wish that I imagine or guess, the desire to lose and erase you from my world, is materialized or dematerialized little by little in reality that do not show up for almost two years in memory, where every day you are more blurred and like something I invented, a sculpture consisting of countless sketches, all imperfect, invisible. Every day more perfect, but also more distant. So much so that even scares me get you in the words where I could catch you while you, in words that perhaps they would know to return your image, but perhaps not. And I'd rather live with the uncertainty of losing even hope to bring you back from a couple of lines, or thousands, waiting in notebooks that I will never open.
Or I thought that it would not open. But do not count as a notebook when I just look for a file on the computer to explain to someone important what I think love means. And the file, which returns me your name but not your face, my descriptions but no past life, opens a new path in my life, a chance to get there to where I pointed out all the time and perhaps now, for your echo scope to finally arrive. I returned a letter your name, but nothing else, it makes me face to face with my loneliness and the feeling of being cursed and beaten, chased by the ghost of you that has no face, but I start any new principle, who has stolen my love and future with the same ease with which you stole from me years ago today. I still have the past and I'm thinking while I write a sad letter, asking if your curse is something that I imagined, if any body know tear it and the heart. The answer is not encouraging, nor is it expected, but the effect is the same. No way out of the labyrinth that describes your name, where I lost future and present, where I will spend time bouncing against the walls until you reach the final. Your echo is cruel and separates me from everything, but it is also ironic, because it reaches the attention of an editor who could well start building a future based on everything I've stolen, in exchange for all you gave me.
Am I selling you? I wonder when you press "send" to the new face of yours that has no figures and I've built with letters go far, half way between your country and mine. And if you sell your soul and mine or not, I do not care, because gradually forget you even remember you. Forgot your face, your gestures, your scent, but I remember your name and a bunch of words that no longer serve as a bridge between me today and our past. I'll be selling you, now I know, but what if you're not here to reproach, if you're not here to find out even that I have sold and now-that long now that is writing-everyone will know you as much as I knew, I find out that now, hopefully, a myriad of eyes made of words you will travel and will be the biggest nightmare we had together. Eye shadow, phantasms in the room, pointing out, chasing, moving away from each other. All the more reason to close the eyes to go through life blind from time to time, determined by something that is no longer creating ghosts and shadows I feared and prophesied that terrified us then that we were hiding from them closing their eyes in a hotel room in the dark, without light or shadows.
also as a prophecy or coincidence, dream to remember before I wake up the world's most inspiring message, the message to me one step closer to sell, and soon I'll be selling you, soon I will have sold. I dreamed of you in looking for a perfume, your mother, that you wore poaching first and then with the gall to teenage love. Which in the end you suitable for use each time we meet, every time you left me closer to your skin so that the world fell to you, which since then has been your perfume. Channel No. 5. I dreamed I held on to an arm that is not yours, praying that he will not depart because the smell was yours and you would soon conjure image, your calm presence in the middle of a dream. Grabbing, chasing your scent and asking you who turned out to be your mother, who looked at me condescendingly, with that look as pious woman who dreamed of from his name but it was also partly memory. He looked as if she too dependent on a perfume to ward off your memory, I smiled with some sadness and some shame also tell me before it dropped out, nobody knows where you are or with whom, although sometimes fire. But you never call to talk to your mom misses you as much as I and perhaps why use this perfume, because she too has lost you and did not have any choice to get you, because with that melancholy sad comfort and understanding is the way yours look for another echo in my empty body. With that tender gesture that position as mater dolorosa makes me understand that I will never see that even in my dreams I go hide and disappear for erasing, deleting your face, your eyes, your words and all . Awakened from sleep to read that message that tells me I'll be selling you. Pronto.
And it will, I will sell because the writers do not know anything else, we are dealers of ghosts, we shadows from one place to another and put them on stage before an audience sick who can not wait to take home and make them subject to his pleasure. Sell \u200b\u200byour shadow, pulling it increasingly difficult letters in books that I thought I re-opened. It will not be possible to hide our bodies from the gaze locked there with us, looks to past and future simultaneously with the letters, voyeuristic nightmare that I am at once victim and executioner in the way you always wanted; torment where simultaneous quantum not all realities and times I can find you. I'll call you Emily, but both know it's you and that even without you, even when you're not mine and never were, I sell, I will sell because I have to, because it is the only way left for me to recover, to drive nails to remember and not let go, to bite your flesh pale again, test your blood and paste outra vez seu Coração in these years sad and hopeless that follow your abandonment, which multiply your absence and when it seems that not even in my dreams I can find you.
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