segunda-feira, 26 de outubro de 2015


I face my empty bed as I do every night,  knowing it will be just another night where I wish you would be here. As the rain keeps pouring, lightning illuminates the room, making everything look black-and-white. Storms have a sensuality about them that is hard to describe to those who just focus on the rain. I would invite you to the roof if you were here, to face the storm with me. Would you accept it? Would you be out there with me, embracing the wind? Alone, it does not hold the same appeal so I just climb into the bed. The distant thunder roars and though lonely, I feel safe. I hold on to the pillow beside me for a meek comfort, just enough to help me fall asleep. And sleep arrives, deep and dreamless.

I wake up. It's very early in the morning, and it is raining again. Or still, I do not know. I do not attempt to go back to sleep, I just lay there looking at the window, watching darkness retreat from the gray skies, longing for you once again. There's nothing like spending the lazy hours of an early morning in bed, listening to the rain falling outside, feeling sheltered by the arms of your loved one. The pillow provides not such. No warmth, no love, no feeling of belonging together.

Would it feel like that if you were here? I'd like to think it would. And yet, maybe I am just beeing a fool, lost in an atmosphere of make-believe I surround myself with. Believing that, if the circumstances were different, you'd be able to accept what I have to give. Believing that, upon understanding through my words how deep my feelings are, you would smile and say "Let's give it a try". Believing that we would build something beautiful together, something amazing, something glorious. And that we would spend rainy sunday mornings cuddling together.

But, as always, you are not here. Even if made it clear this was about you, even if I wrote down your name or initials in capital, huge-font letters, in such manner you would have no way to not see, you wouldn't come. You will never come, and I have nothing but my pillow to help me through another lonely, rainy night.

Inside, I become the storm.

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