August 06, 2012

It's cold outside, but it tastes like summer

De tempo em tempo, a respiração profunda. Ainda aturdida diante da obra importante (ah, a covardia que nos afasta de todo trabalho difícil), empenha-se para elaborar os pespontos, reparar a avaria, refazer a sutura, levantar-se das ruínas. Muita cautela, não se esqueça...

You're in love with ideas, they say. And you know, you know... you can't deny it. Every heartbeat an epic poem, every whispered word an invocation. What would life be outside that?
You plunge in warm water, closed eyelids; the forecast says it's cold, but in here it feels like summertime.


We lay down, and the pain let up.
We embraced, and the pain let go:
No more scalding regrets,
no scorching remorse
that oppressed the soul,
that weighed like a stone on the heart.
You, on top of me, heavy, immense,
and I, feeling so light."

- Vera Pavlova, [We lay down and the pain let up] (in If There is Something to Desire, trans. Steven Seymour)

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