16th of August 2016
Dear Diary,
Dandelions, dragonflies, little birds flying everywhere. In this garden, life appears to me as a singular delight and my soul lays peaceful in contentment over a flowering bed. Mysterious doors, closed windows, old walls, stories waiting to be unveiled and told. Here there is no sadness, no fearful nights or injured memories. Half of me shall recovery here. Half of me shall find love here.
Dear Isa,
are these unreasonable thoughts of yours? and are mine these awaken nights in these stripped sheets?
How long do I write you nothing more than words? There is a cigarette that blends in the wind and there is a time that badly fades. Don’t suffer, Isa, don’t suffer, my love… There is a moon that lights more than the night and a thought. A perfect feeling for you.
Francisco.
…
Querida Isa:
são teus esses pensamentos despropositados e são minhas estas noites acordadas em tamanhos lençóis despidos.
Há quanto tempo não te escrevo mais do que palavras? Há um cigarro que se confunde com o vento e há um tempo mal-apagado. Quantos filtros serão precisos para que deixe de doer? não sofras, Isa, não sofras, meu amor, não sofras no trago amargo desse cinzeiro esfumado. Há uma mortalha que se acende sempre no sopro bem-enrolado daquilo que não compreendes. entre a noite e o dia, há muito que não te digo. Uma lua que acende, mais do que a noite e pensamento. Um sentimento perfeito. Amo-te muito. xx
Francisco.
P.s – These letters are real and the love, that one… was beyond the reality.
Love series by The Candour Cabin
“You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you. My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it? I have no limit now to my love – You note came in just here – I cannot be happier away from you – ‘T is richer than an Argosy of Pearles. Do not threat me even in jest.”
Is love changeable? Does love meets a beginning and an end? Does love grow? Does love expands and contracts like a beating heart? Does love die? All these questions. I need to find answers.
John Keats writes in his letter to Fanny Brawne about his feelings towards her: “My sweet Fanny will your heart never change? My love, will it? I have no limite now to my love…”. He has no limit at the present to his love, but in the future? Well, we know how it ends, Keats and Fanny didn’t belong together. Romantics lived so intensely their feelings, they were completely overwhelmed by everything – nature, love, friendship, etc. They were bond to this world with a transfixing and ethereal connection. The feelings were so intense that it was almost impossible to breath – their poetry showed an uncontrollable intoxication of feelings. It was perhaps too much, but if we don’t dare to live like romantics did, is life worth? Is love worth? Is art worth? Is literature worth?
Buddhism teach us to don’t grow attached to material things – to this mundane life. Soon or later, everything will meet an “end”. We don’t own persons or things, we are here, in this life, just to absorb.
But why love has to end? But why are we enable to forgive, and learn to fall in love every day? Why? So much lovers write love letters and suddenly, one day, they simply stop to do it. So, were we really in love? I believe in a kind of love that mutates, that never stops to reach a higher form of being. “Love is kind, love is patient!”, it must be! Love is like a butterfly, it mutates and in the end, something, beyond beautiful, is born.
The Candour Cabin 