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.

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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...