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#EsteOutroMundo

#EsteOutroMundo

Da tua bicicleta.

Da garupa da tua bicicleta, tu pedalas. 

Vais contra o vento, numa velocidade aceitável, mas com uma concentração de quem tem uma meta a alcançar.

Focas o ponto do horizonte e pedalas como se a tua vida dependesse disso, como se não houvesse amanhã. Concentras-te no destino que queres alcançar, remas contra a corrente, corres em contra relógio, com os cabelos a esvoaçarem e deixarem para trás um rápido rasto teu.

 

Para quem te conhece, não é só o vislumbre do teu cabelo que se atrasa em relação a ti, mas o teu perfume que te lembra a quem pensa que te esqueceu, o aroma que deixas no ar como prova da tua passagem por qualquer ponto de partida, por qualquer pedaço de vida.

É um cheiro infalível, mesmo para a mais fraca memória olfativa - inevitavelmente, fará qualquer pessoa lembrar-se de ti... ou nunca ousar, sequer, esquecer-te!

 

Ouvir-te será um bónus e só os mais espertos terão coragem de te escutar. Mas se te ouvirem, recordações serão para sempre amaldiçoadas (ou abençoadas) com o tom que te persegue, a ti que poucos percebem, a ti que poucos têm a audácia de conhecer.

 

E sobre duas rodas, vives essa vida que é tão tua, saboreias o vento, alcanças o horizonte e sentes, contra ti e a teu favor, a fricção da velocidade do ar, a sinergia de um respirar, a rotina de um mundo a girar.

 

Nem tu sabes o destino que tanto pedalas para tocar, mas quem te conhece cumprimenta a tua vontade e energia quando passas. Não é sorte ou azar brindares portas, portões e lugares com a tua passagem - mas não duvides do quanto isso vai influenciar a vida de quem cruza a tua rota tão decidida, a tua rota tão incerta, tão espontânea e discreta, essa rota tão tua.

 

Da garupa da tua bicicleta, galopas o mundo, cada canto que tu queiras e que alcanças daí, em todo o seu explendor, em 360º, sem ângulos mortos! Acenas a quem te ilumina o caminho (que que às vezes fica mais escuro, que às vezes perde a cor) e, sem que às vezes saibam, guardas isso com carinho. Tu tens sonhos que levas contigo - às vezes no cestinho, às vezes na mochila, às vezes no coração, mas leva-los sempre, como quem não tem medo de sonhar, medo de mostrar que sonha, medo de mostrar que o sonho comanda o teu pedalar. 

 

Tu pedalas sem destino, com sonho e com esperança, sem saber o que vais encontrar, sem rota ou hora marcada. Mas tu sabes bem onde queres chegar... não sabes?

The Day After Tomorrow.

They think they know. They think seeing us is enough to know. But they don't know: they know nothing! It doesn't even cross their mind.

 

If they knew, maybe it would be different, maybe they would act differently, maybe things would be different, they would see things differently and maybe, then, the world would conspire in another way.

They think they know, that only seeing is enough, but they know nothing at all. They don't even imagine!

 

If they knew, maybe they would make the world spin in our favor, maybe they would join forces for us, maybe they would conspire our definitive reunion, maybe they would push us into our final reconciliation. If they knew, maybe there would be a written biography by someone, that would become famous thanks to it.  Maybe it would suit as a fairytale. Some years later, if they knew, maybe some movie would be released, in a major event, with all due pomp and circumstance. Maybe it would become a classic. And then, everyone would know... or, at least, they would think they knew. As if listening was enough to know. But they wouldn't know: they would never know! It wouldn't even cross their mind.

They would never know how it happened: everything we lived before the first time we saw each other, or how we got there - to that meeting point, to that point in our history. 

They would never have the tiniest idea how much our hearts were controlling themselves when we first glanced at each other, they would never have the tiniest idea of what our hearts guessed the first time we got closer, of what they shared during our silent smiles, of what our hearts knew about each other. I think not even we knew what was going on between the two of us: about our heart beats as they were singing in tune the most beautiful ballad; about each and every single curve, vein and shade of ours,  as if they were about to lose themselves in each other's arms and they could do it without a map.  I think only they really know what happened to us.

 

If our hearts would speak, only from them we would know the ultimate truth: only them would describe exactly every single freed feeling, chill felt, smile shared, exchanged gaze, every single tight hug, word said, impulse held and yielded wish. If our hearts would speak, then there would be a way for the world to have a slight idea of what was left to say and left to feel, of what was said over and over again and was never enough. 

And we did it so many times, and it seems like it wasn't enough: the words said, the gestures, the glances, the words, the touches, the chills, the words, the wishes, the words, the dreams... And everything would be easier if they were kept on going. And the world doesn't know: the world doesn't have the tiniest idea of what it was (and of what it is). It has no idea of what we were (what we are, what we want to be).

 

And they think they know. They really think they know. Ridiculous world, that thinks will manage to understand it somehow. Stupid world, that thinks someday will know. They don't know: they know nothing! They cannot even imagine!

 

Probably,  not even we know. Really, I think not even we knew. We couldn't, because everything was gone so fast - life ran too much and was so different. I think

They knew and they are stubborn, punishing us. Punishing us for letting them down.

I think if they would speak, only from them we would know the truth: only them would know how to confess, without messing us up, what we were, what we are and what we could be,  if the world would know just a little, if the world would help just a little, if life would be our complicit.

 

The world doesn't know, the world only fakes it - and it is bad at faking it. And time passed by, and no one will ever know... and we won't ever know, we will just wait for our hearts: we will wait for them to speak, to see each other, to touch each other, to cross each other again, some day. We will wait they will dream about each other. I hope they still want each other!

 

And the world will never know... but maybe we will... maybe one day, around there... maybe today, or tomorrow. Maybe they will be synchronized the day after tomorrow.

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