miscelania poética

Querendo ou não, sou sua.
Minha opinião se perde
E observo você sorrir
como se fosse a única salvação que me é permitida.

Sou sua por inteiro
Apesar de querer,
Apesar de mim mesma.

Sou sua e choro
Pois não sei
já me confundo em mim mesma.

Teus olhos fogem aos meus
e me deslizo em soluços

Eres ou não um sonho?
Eres ou não meu?

Pensas que não te vejo refletir?
Pensas que não vejo a forma que me olhas!
Mas não admite ser meu
e volto a tornar-me vento.


(29-08-2013)
_________________________ ...___________________

Perdi-me em ossos e pele
Aonde foi parar a voz?
O grito não sai
A fala se perde.

As flores morrem e a noite não termina.
As lagrimas tornam-se chuva.
E o corpo treme.

(05-2013)

_______________________..._____________________


Flowers are my goal now...
They shine when darkeness is strong
And give hope when tears are falling.
Maybe by staringa at them I'll believe it
Maybe the flowers will answer my prayers
Maybe the colours will give me even more hope
Maybe I'll feel better.

And maybe just maybe I'll reach it.

(04-2013)

_______________________________ ....___________________


Chá com Canela

As cores brilham
e a alma reluz
Sorri para mim, com seus olhos de chá  com canela!
Tempera meu canto com a menta brilhante da tua aura.

Despede-se de mim com olhos fechados.
E faz-me chorar prantos magoados.

Abre teus olhos ó céu de prazeres
transforma a água em chá de sabores
e dá-me a chave da vida querida
e da alma bendita.

(28/09/2013)

Uma manhã de janeiro

Sempre que abro os olhos pela manhã penso se o dia irá ser melhor que o anterior. Na maior parte das vezes isto não acontece. Sinto que a força que eu havia tido no passado se esvaeceu com a noite e eu perdi a esperança, mas hoje talvez a luz novamente nasça por entre a escuridão.

Levantei com medo de minha própria sombra nesta manha escura de janeiro. O sol ainda não havia nascido e a chuva batia de leve na janela. O cheiro do mar prendia a minha alma nos sonhos e o barulho das ondas me dava medo. Poderia aquela tempestade ter levado mais uma vida, ou poderia aquela tempestade ter trazido algo  novo/ algo desconhecido.

Os olhos ainda cansados, perceberam a leve luz que começava a chegar pela janela fechada. Era hora de abri-la e observar o vermelho que acompanha o nascer do sol. Tremendo com o leve frio da manhã abri a persiana e deixei que a apagada vermelhidão da manhã penetrasse no quarto. A cama com seus lençóis brancos refletia o belo evento que a natureza traz todos os dias com a chegada da luz que ilumina a Terra.

O quarto estava ainda tão bagunçado quanto na noite anterior. Nenhuma fada mágica havia vindo pela noite modificar o estado perdido em que minha alma se encontrava, ou a forma como eu havia simplesmente jogado minhas roupas por sobre o chão, deixando cair os livros da escrivaninha. A fada também havia esquecido de limpar o pó do armário e de fechar a porta do quarto.

Desisti de sofrer por aquilo que eu não havia feito. A manhã era ainda uma possibilidade e eu poderia ainda aproveitar o dia e não sofrer dores do passado que rasgam a alma e impedem-nos de andar.

Saí do quarto que me fazia perder o ar, embora a cor vermelho sangue havia se transformando em um leve rosa, que lembrava-me a infância e permitia que eu observasse a vida como se ela fosse toda minha, sem medos e sem decepções. Sem que o mundo houvesse escrito em minha alma que eu não sou, não sei e não tenho, embora eu sou, seja e tenha.

O corredor também estava escuro, embora a leve luz rosa que vinha do quarto lhe desse um leve tom de casa assombrada por fadas, habitando as flores do papel de parede. Liguei finalmente a luz e foi como se a magia da floresta fosse embora. Eu fiquei ali parada. Desamparada. Sem minhas fadas não tenho nada.

Finalmente entrei a sala e abri a janela. A luz que entrava na sala já era branca. O céu era azul embora a chuva tivesse deixado a grama do jardim molhada. O orvalho caia devagar da roseira. As pétalas creme apagadas brilhavam com diamantes que mudavam de local de acordo com a forma como o sol os tocavam. Os diamantes também caiam e despedaçavam sobre a grama, perdendo-se possíveis colares de madames e anéis de 15 anos para uma manhã de janeiro em que a esperança nasce entre folhas e lágrimas.

O cheiro da grama molhada misturava-se ao cheiro da praia. Surfistas começavam a surgir no horizonte e voltei-me para a sala, procurando um livro que pudesse me acompanhar em uma caminhada.

A cozinha também estava repleta de escuridão. Ao abrir as janelas e permitir que o cheiro de café entrasse pelo nariz, penetrando cada parte de meu ser, observei pela janela da sala os banhistas que começavam a chegar. Guarda-sol coloridos começavam a transformar a praia em um arco-íris e o café me dava a energia que eu precisava.

Tive que retornar ao quarto, cuja vermelhidão da manhã ainda me assombrava, mas ao observar que o nascer do sol havia acabado, o quarto já não mais me dava medo. Agora as temeridades do passado haviam se ido e a esperança de que este dia iria trazer algo novo vinha novamente, agora ainda mais forte.

Agora pronta, peguei meu livro e me dirigi para a praia. A música que vinha de meu celular me consumia. Fechei meus olhos para sentir o que dizia a paz em som e vozes. A calma e o vai e vem do mar faziam um mantra.

Abri novamente os olhos, o creme da areia, que penetrava por entre meus pés nus, contrastava com o azul do mar, do céu. O azul que preenchia a alma e que mostrava uma esperança, um mundo que permitia abrir-se inteiramente a minha frente para que o futuro fosse meu. Sem medos, visto que o medo faz com que a vida fique empacada e nos transforma em nada. Sem vícios, visto que estes fazem de nós escravos. Um futuro só meu e escrito por mim. Um futuro que eu fiz para mim mesma e que apenas o mar e eu precisamos concordar. Visto que o mar é vida e eu sou o mar. 

Short Story: Peace/Love Conference

What was wrong with her? Her mind kept consuming all energy she had, even when she was wide awake. He had made a fool of her and she still wished him close at all times. Mostly, she wanted him close when it hurt, even if he was the reason for most of her pain, even if he was probably why she had forgotten how to behave, how to breathe, how to stand among the crowd that now stared at her waiting for an answer she could not give.

How long had passed since his arrival she was not positive. It certainly had not been as many as she had felt in her heart. He had caused all this - his greed, his hunger for power and money. She had tried to warn him against his own actions, but instead of seeing her, all he saw was an opponent to his gain. 

He had made her feel like a child, lost and looking for someone else to explain what she had done wrong. She could not explain why he was so blind to what he was doing. All the deaths he caused because he wanted a little land. All the tears in small children’s faces all because he believed in something they did not. 

Yet she loved him. She thought he could once again see the light. She knew him so well, she believed he still could realize that he had to stop and admit he was wrong. He needed to retreat and allow others to fix all the wrong he had done. 

She only wished she was brave enough to inform him, once again, of that.

She closed her eyes and spoke, like a prayer to those around her, words of wisdom. Her heart allowed her a minute of calmness as she spoke, and she refused to look at his approving yet condescending stare. 

The crowd applauded. They believed in peace and equality as much as she did. She tried to avoid a glance at his position, but she could not stop her own body from moving. Her hand had glued itself to the table and she slowly sat, looking down but feeling a dozen eyes upon her.

She could not sense him. She felt relieved. The way she felt when he was close did not allow her to fell dignified. And he shouldn’t even be here. It was his entire fault! His bad decisions had caused this war. He should have been kept away while they decided how to solve it. Especially since he doesn’t think it should end. 

And she looked once again at his figure. His long dark hair had grown even more and she liked that. But she had to focus. A resolution had been made. No more war.  No more him. Reason and peace would win this war. And she would not allow her heart to triumph. Much better men then he could come - men that would not break her and cause destruction on everything else.

A walk in the rain

She was walking fast, and observing the path ahead of her. The leaves fell at such a beautiful pace, they almost accompanied the song coming out of the radio.

She smiled and wondered if she’d see him, once again, walking down the same road.

She had attempted to dress up. They had been accidentally meeting for a month now. He didn´t know how much in love with him she was.

The wind made a strange noise and a new song started. She didn´t know this song, she wasn´t sure she liked it.

Someone ran across her and she smiled in recognition but continued walking ahead. In front of her a beautiful old tree seamed dead, the leaves were long gone. But a white owl watched her walk.

For a few seconds she dreamed of other, more beautiful worlds, were there was no pain and suffering.

She felt something cold on her shoulder. The sun was still up, but it seemed to have started raining. Soft tears from heaven.

She had not brought an umbrella. Nor a cape. But she was already wet, there was no point in going home now.

But there was no more hope of seeing him. He would not come while it was raining, and she could not come tomorrow.

She told herself to maintain focus and once again looked ahead, once again a new song started. This time she knew the song, this one she liked. It was old and rusty, and it made people cry, it was comfortable and reliable.

She decided she should run. That way she wouldn’t get so wet. Not that she wasn´t wet already.

She didn´t run for long, and decided to sit in one of the benches. The rain and the sun had created a rainbow over the mountain East of the village. It covered the tallest tree and the tallest building. It brought colour to the sky.

It was beautiful and the rain stopped anyone from seeing her cry.

She turned the volume up and waited for the familiar song to die. Softly she sang to no one and hoped only heaven would hear her.

When a new song started she decided to go back. And when she looked up, there he was.

His face was wet – was it the rain or was he crying too?

He had been running, she could see.

He had flowers in his hands, they were wet and forgotten. He slowly gave them to her.

She smiled and he sat by her side.

He slowly took her headphones off and kissed her. She had been singing aloud and hadn´t realized.

I did not dare dream that he would, but he came.

I wondered if life would always feel this perfect. Just yesterday I had none of this. Just yesterday he was just a dream I could never reach. Now he is here, in my arms, asleep.

The sun was already up and I could see some glimpses of rays of light coming out of the dark pink curtains and reflecting a rainbow of colors in the mirror.

I felt my beloved move beside him and greated him with the smile that showed him just how much I wanted him with me.

‘Hey there’.

‘Good morning, sleep well?’

‘Now that you’re here, I don’t think I’ll ever have a bad night sleep again’.

He laughed. We both knew that wasn’t true. I had problem sleeping since I was a child and him being here wouldn’t change that. It would make me feel better about not being able to sleep though. I looked up at the ceiling and wondered if it was true for a bit. He had really come all this way.

‘Don’t start daydreaming on me, my love. You’ll never stop and we’ll lose all morning if you continue to stare at the walls’. That was my turn to laugh. I looked into his eyes and kissed him. The feelings of being near him were so great I couldn’t even describe. The energy that came out of him made me both week and strong at the same time.

‘I love you’. Telling him felt easy.

‘And I love you, I hope catching that plane and leaving all of them behind was proof enough’. That’s what he had done, the day before. He just left everything behind for me. And I love him for that, but I also worry.

‘Aren’t you worried? Your family must hate me now’.

‘My family loves you, and ,most important, they love me. It was my decision and I could no longer live away from you. So, if you’re following your dreams, then so am I, and they better be supportive of us’.

‘There’s nothing I can say other than I love you’. He kissed me once again and I let myself get lost in him.

I had promised to show him the city I had decided to live in. Romantic as Paris was, being alone in it wasn’t so bad. Off course, I had felt like that until I had my Nicky in my arms.

Hand in hand I took him to my favorite spots. The Louvre and it’s marvelous three graces, we walked the Champs Élisé and I felt like a crazy person in love when I finally had a picture of the two of us together at the tower.

And then we came back home. My love couldn´t understand a thing that was going around him at the metro and he was obviously distracted by all the french that was going around. I just laughed.

But I soon realized how much he didn´t fit which had been the reason he hadn´t come in the first place.

In the comfort of my apartment once more, it didn´t take long before we were once more in my bed. I had missed him so much. And he had missed me. But we had to be sensible. I´d allow ourselves some time, because I wanted him here as much as I wanted to be here, however, it was going to be hard on both of us and I don´t think he knows that… he never realizes what his choices actually mean.

I’ve always been the sensible one, the one to see what was wrong and to understand what had to be done to fix it. I hope he sees reason too. I can’t bear to tell him that we won´t last if he doesn’t.

I was the last one standing, and then I left you.

And I was here all along, listening to him brag about how he was better than us all, listening to him tell me how much he loved her, listening to him tell me how much he hated her.

I was here, but now I´m leaving. And I know for a fact that he won’t follow. He’s got this thing about him, where anyone else doesn’t matter and I’m just tired of that.

I know I´m supposed to stick around, I am his best friend and all. But really, does he even listen to himself sometimes?

I wonder if he realizes why she left him. It’s quite obvious to me. And yet he is as blind as a little baby.

He has never hated her, he is just saying that. He forgets he’s talking about my friend too, and someone I know just as well as he does. Although, I begin to think that for all this love he supposedly felt for her, if he did actually know her at all. How could he possibly not see that her moving had nothing to do with him? There’s a whole world outside of this place and she just wanted to see it. He should be supportive of that. He should want to see it with her or at least tell her to follow her dreams. Not tell her she is a fool and that her place is behind him.

He actually used the world behind. As if he was some sort of superior being who could be in front while she stayed in the shadows, doing everything he asked of her. That had never been her.

Unfortunately, that was becoming me. And I wasn’t going to let that happen. So before that happened, and before I could let him turn me into some nineteenth century proper lady, I left too.

I wonder how long it will take him to realize he is wrong, or that I also left. He probably will not. I´m not fit into his fantasy of perfection. He didn´t even love me like he loved her and yet we became this. And stupid me, I stayed for way longer that I should have.

I know him, I knew what was expecting me. History was repeating itself and before I knew he was going to place me at the spot she left. A spot I never wanted. I spot I don´t want. I spot I dread.

So, good bye, my friend. I promised I’d never leave you but the truth is… how can I be leaving you when you never actually cared enough to notice? I hope you grow now that I´m gone. I hope you realize you’re wrong. I hope you realize you still love her or that you finally admit that you are not the only and most important of beings. I´ll miss you, there were some fun moments at least.

In honor of Internation Women´s day a short story about gender violence.

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untitled

He grabbed her leaving a bruise on her petit arms. “Did I ever say anything to make you think that?” His voice sounded strong, without fear. It felt weird to her that even though she was about to leave he still acted as if he owned the world.

 She forced her arms away. Her arms hurt.

“It´s not necessarily what you say, but how you say it”. And how you act, she meant to say as well, but angering him more would not be effective towards her goal.

“You can´t really think that I mean that, though?” His voice tried to sound sweet. But she was too used to his faking sweetness to believe it.

“Yes, you do. You always try to apologize, but in the end, you still think I´m just a little girl who knows nothing about what she is talking about. And I hate that. It makes me want to scream at you, but I don’t, because screaming has never accomplished anything between us. And now I just want to leave”. She left a lot unsaid. Yes, he had never physically hurt her. Except her arm – it hurt. But she expected him to do something worse than just tell her ‘the food was almost ok today’ sometime soon. One day the food was really going to be ‘almost ok’, someday she‘d be late from work, someday even she might just forget something. Was her arm an example of what could come?

“But you must know I love you”. He replied, with that same tone he always used to say it, like a doll she used to have when she was little ‘I love you’, ‘I like you’, ‘I need you’.

“Loving me and treating me like a child are not multiply exclusive but it’s not something I can live with. Not anymore”. She had to go away. She had to leave. Sooner rather than later.

“And if I really was so condescending, do you think leaving is going to make me think you have grown up?” She didn’t know if she was sad or happy that he had finally practically admitted. He did think she was just a little girl in need of teaching, training, inferior to him in every way. Except she is not. He is wrong. Falling in love with him had been a mistake she had finally realized. Hopefully it was not too late. She knew how hard it was to leave men like him behind. She hoped she could be strong. She was glad she had asked for help. None of her friends had seen him for what he was. She hadn’t either. How could she. He was everything she had ever dreamed about - until he wasn’t.

“No, but the point is that it isn’t about what you think, it’s about what I do. I want out. I can’t live knowing you’ll keep treating me like that. Because I know what you really think, behind all those nice words. Words are empty, your actions matter, and they talk much louder than the pretty little lines you keep repeating to me”.

“So you’re really going. I’ve got no say on that?”

 He left no time for her to reply and tried to grab her arm once again. She was hoping it wouldn´t come to this. She had been prepared. They had told her he might turn on her. She had her mobile phone on her, but he grabbed for her purse quicker than she could.

She ran.

That was all she could do.

Times of war

Times of war are supposed to be this tiring, I know. But to be in love with a king is definitely so heartbreaking that it takes skills more powerful than those usually accepted for a woman.

How I have long to see his face once more, in this time of wretchedness, but I had not had the honor of being great enough to be in his presence more often. And since I am but a girl in the eyes of this many men who only think of swords, I was not allowed to even be nearer to those who know him well.

To love a king is trouble. There is no doubt in that.

Had I loved a simple commoner perhaps my life would have been easier. Perhaps today I would be home, feeding my children simple stew and bread. I would have no fineries, and I would not have wine, but that would not matter to someone who had been happy. I could participate in the many festivities, wearing flowers in my hair and letting it loose upon my shoulders.

But that would never be, as I was not born for that. I am meant for the pain of watching girl after girl be chosen to warm his bed at night. I am meant to watch them leave just as broken as I left all those years ago. The only difference between them and me are the years… and the fine dresses. Mine are so very fine.

I wish he would call for me once more, or visit me at least. I miss his voice, even when I know his words will only bring me tears.

The crown upon his head seems heavy, so is mine. But since I am not allowed to own mine, only wear it, he still pretends to be better at bearing the pain. He is not. He will fall one day. And I will stay, for I have stayed. And all the times in which he has forgotten my existence will return to him.

At least, I wish they would.

I so wish to be able to enter his chambers now, and be allowed to talk to him. Like we did when we were first married. When he still allowed me to discuss matters of war and state.

He should have realized by now that his long absences to fight an unnecessary war have made our country vulnerable, hungry and frail. And I have stayed. I know.

I may still be a young girl, a maiden with her hair braided with lace and flowers, in his friends eyes. But he SHOULD know better. I am his Queen. There is nothing he knows that I don´t know too. We have learned and lived together for so long. And though he seems to have forgotten it long ago, I have loved him enough for songs to be made of our love and he has loved me enough to start a war - a war that broke us.

Parte 1. Perdido na floresta.

Ele estava cansado de andar a tarde toda, mas nada ele podia fazer. Já era tarde, mas o sol ainda não havia desaparecido, embora um leve cor-de-rosa preenchesse o céu.  A floresta se mantinha silenciosa, as árvores não se mexiam, o vento não fazia barulho. Tudo parecia estagnado. Mas não, enquanto ele andava no vazio, ao longe ele sabia que muitos conversavam, esperando a noite e a luz fraca do luar.

Seguindo o mesmo caminho que já seguira por toda aquela tarde, assim como o havia feito no dia anterior, Tomás já começava a perder as esperanças de chegar a algum lugar. Ele realmente estava perdido.

A fome atacava, e o resto das barras de cereal que havia trazido já se iam, mas ele não perdia as esperanças. Ao menos sabia que não estava dando voltas. Ele não tinha visto este local ainda, e mantinha como ponto de referência o pico a sua frente. Enquanto o ‘Pico da Solidão’ estivesse a sua frente ele não poderia desistir, ao menos o monte lhe fazia companhia.

-“Porquê não avisei ninguém que ia ficar para trás um pouco, observando?”. O grupo certamente estava a sua procura, mas com eles iriam encontrá-lo depois de dois dias. Com certeza sua amiga Juliana, ou seu amigo Pedro teriam logo dado falta dele. “Mas, será?”

            Envolto nas mesmas incertezas que já o preenchiam desde o dia anterior, ele ouviu um pássaro a longe. Parecia-lhe um animal diferente, que ele nunca antes havia ouvido. Isso não o surpreenderia pois naquela floresta muitos dos animais lhe eram estranhos. “Eu deveria ter estudado um pouco a flora e a fauna deste local antes desta viagem!”. Mas quem faz isso? Certamente não Tomás!

“Está escurecendo, é melhor eu parar de andar por hoje”. O cantil que ele havia trazido cheio para a viagem ainda tinha um pouco de água, mas ele não pretendia tomar tudo. Comeu o resto da barrinha de cereal e procurou um bom lugar para dormir. Acender uma fogueira não seria uma boa idéia, mas ele tinha medo do frio. Não achou nenhum ponto interessante e resolveu andar mais um pouco.

Logo a frente percebeu uma clareira. E nela, vozes. Mas teve medo. A solidão, a cede, o sol, não estariam pregando uma peça nele? Haveria mesmo alguém, a estas horas da noite, no meio da floresta? Poderia ser alguém a sua procura? Mas se assim fosse estariam chamando seu nome e o ruído que ele ouvia não passava de um som normal, vozes conversando entre si. Parecia-lhe que na clareira havia um mundo vivo ao qual ele, em sua estada perambulando pela floresta, não mais pertencia.

Não ousou chegar mais perto. Não ousou se mexer.

Poderiam ser traficantes das belas aves desta floresta, ou ladrões ali escondidos para fugir da polícia. ‘Melhor não ir por ali’, pensou Tomás. ‘Melhor esperar a manhã e ver o que o sol me mostra’.

Tomás tentou fazer o mínimo possível de barulho ao dar passos para trás e retornar para o local onde tinha comido, sem perder de vista a clareira. Ele então se virou para a outra direção, tentando fugir do local no qual ouvira vozes. Logo achou um espaço onde pode se deitar. Ainda sem causar barulho abriu seu saco de dormir, fechou-se nele e tentou, o mais que pode, pegar no sono. O medo do quê e quem poderia estar escondido naquela clareira dificultaram sua noite.

Quando finalmente repousou os olhos, acordou já na manhã seguinte.

________________________________________________________

a moment

She had closed her eyes for just a moment and it seemed that now everything had changed for her. Had she really just done that, had she really told him how she felt?

 Despite the fear, she had managed to contain her trembling hands and she had kissed him, showing him with actions what her words had not been able to fully explain.

But could he understand her? Had he fully comprehended just how important he was for her? Had he realized that she could not leave without him?

A few moments of blissful happiness was all she got before he left her, once again empty. He had not understood and he would never understand.

She was lonely without him but his presence did not guarantee her happiness, he could not understand her, he could not truly see her. He was not right for her and she knew that.

But she did not know how to extract herself in the same way as she did not know how to tell him how she felt. And moments like this were lost. He’d continue living life in its daily beauties and she would continue to love and dream of a more beautiful tomorrow.

when she left him

Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is the real me? You don´t even look at me, do you? And when you do decide to glance my way, what you see is a bizarre version of me. Someone I´m not, someone I don´t want to be.

Why are you still with me? You don´t love me? You don´t understand me? You don´t even want me….

Yet, you won´t set me free. So the only way I can be free of you, is if I leave.

Good Bye Jonathan, I am gone now, for good.

 Don´t look for me. I don´t need you and you don´t need me.

Once upon a time, with love

And just like that, she had left him. Now he was all alone in the world. Did she really think he had never loved her? He would have moved mountains for her, he would sing her favorite songs, just because he asked her too… Now how did she believe he could live without her?

Maybe he had, in fact, been blind. He should have paid more attention, listened more. But he always thought that she knew he was a bit oblivious to everything around him.

Jonathan left the open letter over the kitchen table. Then now empty house felt cold, the kitchen had lost its liveliness, its color. The sound of the television seemed to usurp the silence. She had taken her favorite flower with her, it made sense for she could not live without pink roses.

One by one, he closed the windows, the lights on the street seemed to hunt him. “Could she be hiding there - somewhere in the shadows? No, she´d be long gone, by now”. The last stream of light coming from outside was now gone, television off, lights down, he was surrounded by darkness.

What had made her leave? He wondered… What had he done? What had they done? He wished there had been warning,… But there had been, so many warnings, he was the one that had been blind, blind to all, blind to her, blind to the sadness that filled their hearts. He needs her, he had always needed her, but he had never shown her just how much, he had never been there when she needed him. So perhaps it had been his fault, perhaps it had been their fault.

Seating on her favorite spot, by the sofa, he noticed the emptied bookshelves, no more woman authors organized by last name, no more pink markers or flowery arrangements. He had complained about them, now they were so normal to him, he missed them dearly. For she was him, and he was her, and everything he like she liked, even if she didn´t; and he liked everything she like, even if he didn´t. This is how they were.

But now she was gone, and he could not understand why… and he had to let her go.

just something I came up with today...

While I wait for sleep

As I lay in bed, half closed eyes, hoping sleep would arrive soon, I remembered that I no longer had something to look forward to in the morning.

The children had all left (they were no longer children) and the house felt empty, no noises into the night, no crying baby I had to run to. The comfort of the frequent presence of steps running around no longer exists.

What could I do now but read a novel with a cup of tea in my hands and hope for a phone call. Maybe soon I´d have grand-children, maybe they would visit in the summer and I would have once again the beautiful sound of children playing in the yards. But no, I did not hope for such. Even if my children were to have children, would I still be here to meet them? Or would the emptiness fill me so that by then I would no longer be myself?

Sleep is finally arriving, and my eyelids are finally surrendering to the darkness of the night. Good night, I whisper to the silence.

Another day, filled with nothingness. No news today. My reading progressed as time seemed to stand by. Is this all I can offer the world now? No, I know it is not? Perhaps I could write? Put into words the thoughts my mind never stops to make and follow the advice of Virginia Woolf, did she not encourage woman to write? So I will follow the grand writer, and I shall do as she said… I shall write…

Another day, another night. I tried to follow my determination of writing today. Easier said than done, I believe. At least I tried. The emptiness still surrounds me, but writing makes me feel better, perhaps it is the solution, perhaps it is not.

A full day of writing. Jane Austen would be proud for I do not have to hide what I write, as she did. No news from the children. Loneliness attacks at night, once again. Why is the silence of the night so silent? Where are the fairies that should be dancing away in the garden? The ones we used to see as children? The ones we dream of and create tales about? Where is the Fairy Godmother that will save us all and take us to our beloved prince?

“Good night, Fairy Godmother, I know you hide in the shadows, and look after the young children with special ardor, I only ask that you don´t forget the old, as we too need magic, and light, and hope”.

Have they forgotten, as I have forgotten myself? Another long day and no news of my children. The house feels even emptier as I walk their rooms. I wonder where they are, if they are happy.  As I put my beloved cup of tea down (the one I got for mother´s day, so many years past), a tear rolls from my face. I am tired of this lowliness. My family is no longer mine, they have their own family. I am now a distant relation to go visit and call during festive days. I have no more purpose, no more reason. I must sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.

Another day, no news, I keep writing, keep living… News will come, I am sure.

“Fairy Godmother, where are you? There, there you are!”.

Mary Bennet Drabbles

of course, I am no Jane Austen, so this is merely fanfiction.

Mary Bennet reflects

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Mary Bennet watched from afar as her family danced. Lizzie seemed far off in a world of her own today. Even as she danced, she didn´t seem to focus as much on everyone around her as she usually did.

Like Mary, Lizzie was an observer. She watched all around her. But today something seemed to trouble her. Mary Bennet wondered if her sister’s sudden lack of interest on the exercise of dancing had any relation to the recent visit to Kent.

Jane’s sadness was easily explained. When Charles Bingley left Netherfield he had taken her sister’s heart with him. Their mother’s constant reminders were of no help, off course. But Lizzie had no reason to be so thoughtful, or so Mary imagined.

Resolved to observe her older sister on every possible occasion and understand her almost forlorn appearance, Mary resumed her reading and forgot the loud sounds that circled her.

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Kitty and Lydia were laughing again. ‘They never go to sleep at a decent hour!’ thought Mary.  And even if Mary had given up sleep all together, and found a book to read, still she could not concentrate on the wise words of the written kind, as her sisters constant giggles would not allow her.

Mary wished she could share a room with Lizzie and Jane. She was certain their conversations would be much more interesting.

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The wedding was beautiful. Enjoying once again the moment of silence the end of the ceremony had brought the middle Bennet sister could reflect a little.  Mary had walked in with her sisters and had been able to participate on the celebration as a witness. She was very glad both her older sisters had given her that honor. Of course, Kitty had not been forgotten either. Now, the fun part (in Mary´s opinion, that is) was over and they would go to the wedding breakfast.

 Her mother had been full of the preparations for some time. Nothing could be wrong for the double wedding. The middle sister – now the official Miss Bennet – wondered if her mother would worry as much if she ever came to wed.

Lizzie had promised to take Mary to Pemberley and the young girl could not wait. She had heard much of the state’s library and she wished she could partake in it. “Would Mr. Darcy own a fine edition of Fordyce´s Sermons?” Surely Pemberley possessed not only that but many other great books for her to read.

Her mother interrupted her thoughts reminding her that Mary had to enter the carriage, and once again the noise of the Bennet family engulfed her and she could no longer concentrate on her own thoughts.