Some things remain

My dearest friend,

you've been growing inside me for all these years, staring right at me while I was looking back into your eyes. You could not see right through them, but you would confront me with the simplicity of your words, and you were surprisingly able to emphasise your ideas. In rare occasions, when I dropped my pudency at the front door, I would let you in, and you could feel the cold breeze. I felt you were the best thing that had ever happened to me. It was a strange admiration, probably it was not mutual, but this was an inevitable feeling, that could not possibly be restrained. Maybe, at that time, I would be awake at night and would be daydreaming for the rest of the day, and this makes it very clear to me. I hope you were not a ghost, I used to feel you so intensely, just as if we had known each other for many many years, that I truly hope you were not a lie of my imagination.

And then everything changed: you dropped your convictions, your gods and godsses, your mythical creatures, your lovely poems, your writing, I mean, yourself, and embraced a new confidence and a new faith. If I were you, I know I would scream and cry during those long nights of metamorphosis. Your eyes were now different, maybe they were green (they used to be dark blue), but I still felt the same about you. You still had the same overwhelming look, your hair was as messy as ever and I laughed when I looked at you again and kissed you tenderly.

I had really missed you during those lost months, when you were absent from everything. I don't know if I understood the new "you", and I still don't know if I understand you now, after you've been through some more changes. It's hard for me to keep up to you, maybe you don't need me to, but this is a need that lies deep in me. I'm afraid it is a selfish quest for a new "me".

After this, there was silence everywhere. No one would dare to make a move, to make a stand, and we held still, horribly silent for these last few months, just as if we were statues, mimes, very white, inexpressive, hopelessly lonely. I missed you, my dear friend, I felt you had failed to me and then I knew I had lost you. I could still recognize some pieces of you, but there were too many holes and losses. You were forever gone, but I know you're not dead and that you're not a ghost - you're just living in the twilight. Sometimes you go to sleep at sunrise and get up and sunset, so we haven't been talking much. But I still feel you, even though you may sometimes fade away in a foggy night. You're a spiral, that's all I may say, that elevates and flies in that blue sky, over those green fields. We're silent but I hear you, sometimes, and when my eyes meet yours, in bold dreams, I see pacience, suffering and mutual understanding, even though the distance is getting longer and longer.


Love,
Luísa