She wondered with her beer through the street. She loved how dirty it was and she didn't mind walking barefoot; as matter the fact she love it with all her heart. She loved how dirty and ramshackle the roads were.
It was her father in her, she suspected. An insane boy catching every breath life could give. But her father had lived it deeper and more vividly, hadn't he? He'd taken the drugs and run all the races. He had grown up in a better age for radicalism. And more that that, she knew, when it came to self destruction, her father hadn't been faking it. He had died alone of a drug overdose in his closed up room at Gran's hause.

"What is it with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know"
She tried to relax and make her face go into normal shapes, but it wasn't easy. She felt strain every muscle. You couldn't be artificial around Faquica but sometimes you couldn't be honest either.
She felt guilt towards Mickey, but that was by no means the worst of what she felt. She wished guilt was the principal emotion, because that would mean she had the upper hand, and she did not. She only pretended.
It was a strange way to love a person.
What was the matter with her? Why couldn't she just get over him? She'd done this for too long, alternating between loving him and punishing him for being loved.

Looking back, it was the thing in her life that shamed her the most: the times she was purposefully, calculatingly mean to him. It was those moments, and there had been many of them, that indicated to her that she was not a good person. At last, she could understand what she felt and all the stupid bullshit she couldn't handle. She got mad at him for many things, but it was always really for the same thing: that he possessed her love and she couldn't seem to get it back.
He didn't deserve it, which was to say he deserved better.

"A person's true identity can often be difficult to discern, even to themselves, causing one to question their character, their calling, their very existence. For most, time provides clarity, but for others, these questions remain unanswered for an identity cannot be fully defined when it is a guarded secret."

It was a rushed goodbye that would have to last for a long while, she guessed. Maybe forever. She hugged him zealously, her body able to express more than her brain, and pressed her face into his chest. He must have had the same feeling because he hugged her in return like she was someone he might not see again. He kissed her hard, not on the face but above her ear. She wondered about the nature of this kiss.
They let go of each other. How to leave it? "I'll call you?", "Don't forget to write?", "See you next time!"? None of that seemed appropriate. Because why say this words? When was next time going to be? These few days has been like a cozy foxhole dug out of time. It was time to go back to their lives.
"Thank you", she said tearfully. Those were the parting words that fit.
He entered the departure door and waved her goodbye through the other passengers.
She felt a sense of desperation as the plane's engines began to churn and it finally took of away from her safe land. She wanted to keep him in her mind as he was now. She didn't want to lose him but it gave her the feeling that her memory was already closing on him.
She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.

He was observing the splotch of ink on her fingers.
"Will you walk with me back to the hotel?"
"Of course", she said.
He put his arms around her shoulders as they walked and they fell into a comfortable step together. It felt sad and good to be with him. She looked down so he wouldn't see the tears on her face.
When they arrived at the lobby he asked trying to catch her sight "Are you going right away?".
She felt tempted to stay. They could walk to some restaurant and get something to eat together. They could slip into the bathroom and make love. She put her hand on the abdomen, she could. She tried to think of one or two excuses for it and she found a million and, all of sudden, it hit her.
She felt her vision closing in as she might faint and the agonizing restlessness in her joints and a tingling like an attack of red ants on the bottom of her feet.
She couldn't. "Yes, I'm leaving right away". She kissed him on the lips. There was obvious passion in it, even after all this. If she stayed too much longer, she wouldn't be able to go and she knew she couldn't stay.
She walked away down the road. Her chest ached. She meant not to look back, but she couldn't help it. She turned and he was still there watching her go. He didn't wave or smile, he looked sad. When she turned the second time he was gone.

The way he watched her face, he knew her. He knew this hadn't been easy. she realized he was being careful. So careful, he barely swallowed, barely moved. He was easier with his feeling but he was like any other person in not wanting to see them get destroyed. He moved towards her and put his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He pressed her hard against his chest. He put his face in her neck.

All the things she planned to feel, the way she planned to look and seem, the appropriate things she planned to say. None of them come to pass..

There was nothing new in loving him. She had always loved him, even when she was mean to him. She remembered it, and she had been told so. She had loved him before she even realized it. Wasn't that the easiest way to love a person?

He lets go of my hand but I keep spinning and spinning until I collapse to the floor. I lie still as the bare room revolves around me and for a moment I picture myself in an insane asylum, in a white space with no furniture. I close my eyes and when I open them again, his face is hovering above mine. He has pretty eyelashes and a crease on either side of his mouth.
"Mad, crazy girl", he whispers before he leans in to kiss me.
I allow myself to be carried away by his kiss. His mouth envelops mine, absorbing all reality until life seems to consist only of these lips and tongues engaged in a funny dance of their own. He comes up behind me, pushing my hair aside to mouth my neck.
Then I freeze and all of a sudden, I'm suddenly suffocating. I put my hands on his shoulders and tell him that I can't.

She's standing near the street, walking by, thinking she is completely alone not to be embarrassed by her little dance walk show, when he appears suddenly. But, instead of being goofy, he grabs her under her arms and presses her to him, spinning her around like a child.
He kisses her all over the face. "Oh lord, am I glad to see you kiddo. You've got great timing, did anyone ever tell you that?"
He grabs her arms and leads her out the other end of the alley like a man on a mission. "When I saw you it suddenly made sense", he says.
When they leave the metro, they run around the parking lot like too little kids, trying to get first and win the race. He lets her win and she bounces at a chair in a table, pretending to be a narcissist british tourist drinking from an imaginary cup, while he comes near and sits in front of her with his pretend newspaper and a well drawn mustache. After a two snob strangers seducing game, they start laughing like retards and  finally order.

When the train arrived she searched for him and found is back going the opposite way wearing the yellow overcoat they bought together. She couldn't picture his face when he was gone. Every time he returned, he came back wearing his same face that she could not remember.
She yelled his name while running towards his figure. He was surprised to see her, so surprised that his face registered joy and relief before anything else. He immediately wrapped her in his arms, "I'm so glad to see you", he said. There were tears in his eyes but no recriminations. She was moved by his love for her, even after what she'd done.
He took her hand and studied her fingers one at a time. He had a knowing look but not a damning one. His face was not only handsome but a part of her.

December, 2012

Quando te vi algumas mesas afastado, já não ouvia mais conversas sobre viagens a França que terminaram em assaltos á mão armada. Já não ouvia uma só palavra.
Naquela sala. Eu. Tu. Mesas diferentes. Sozinhos. A brincar.
E no meio da multidão, eu sentia-te atrás de mim como uma sombra, mas só soube no ínfimo do meu ser quando me tocaste na mão e me beijaste o pescoço. Aí todo o meu mundo vibrou.

"I think it's complicated.. Too many fights. How hard is it to be happy?"
"Near to impossible."
"People are happy"
"For like.. One second.. Blowing out birthday candles, petting a panda.. Those are moments of joy but there's a difference. A good relationship is hard work, practically slave labor."
"So do you think I'm stupid for wanting to be happy with someone?"
"An absolute dummie! Look, people like us, we are always restless.. So we are a little bit unhappy. Being with someone doesn't change that, it just makes it much more complicated."
"Maybe I just want something simple."
"Simple is a nice boy who's darling and doesn't challenge you. I could see you bored out in the suburbs! You would kill yourself! I would kill you! There are millions of girls out there, who will marry a nice boy and drive one of those mini vans. But you, you will never be satisfied to side with a man who sits home and asks you what's for dinner."
"Take out."
"Exactly."
"You want a men who gets that and gets you."

All day she has been avoiding the phone.
She knows she has to do the right thing. And the sooner she does it, the better. She gets it over with, and she doesn't have to worry about it anymore. But who does that in real life? Instead you procrastinate and think about it and put it off and think about it some more until that one little pebble grows into a giant block inside your head.
It's only, she reminds herself, a phone call. But she has so many other important things to do first..

There's always a quiet tension between us, like the shadow of a cloud on a beautiful summer day. You look up and suddenly realize you are in for a thunderstorm.