Dear Diary, //Let us be credulous that, one day, such joy will meet our way. // I’ve found a memory covered and hidden beneath the forgotten dust of time — and a past moment had unravel before my eyes as it was this very present moment, as it was my true essence.
Dusk it was, a particular moment of the day where this world and the other meet and become one. Where everything converge, twist and take a shape. Where everything around us is compelling and enticing, where our soul it isn’t a prisoner, isn’t contained, but instead disperse and free, connected with that invisible world, where, at once, is moon, light, sun, fortune, glory and hope. Dear Diary, I long for these kindred days.
I don’t need shoes, I go with bare feet towards you, Sir.
Thursday, 16th of March 2017
March, I cut my hair, put some mascara on and I spotted myself in the mirror looking different. After all these lives, will you still recognise me? Will you understand my silent words, will our eyes recognise each other from the very first moment?
Will we be “Alive to all things and forgetting all.” as Wordsworth said? Will this endless mutability fade with our lips reunite? Here, where the humanity core dwells, one day, we shall reach the right latitude of the castles in the air.
I called my visualizing list where I project my future — Inventarium. Every new year, for me, is a new opportunity for renovating my hopes and dreams. So my longings begin in wanting to cherish life and myself more. I want to become more lighter/pure, I want to believe that I am able, I want to congratulate myself instead of finding mistakes in every step that I take. I want to fulfill my existence with faith instead of disbelief — due to this reason, I will write the many lists as I can and I will force myself to reread them — over and over again — until I come to believe that all these griefs were just a metamorphosis: a prologue for the better days.
I will end my writings for this year today. 2016 was a strange year, I changed few times of job, plans, directions and, at the end, I still feel a bit frustrated… When I was a child I used to imagine myself when I would be a grown up… I did see a calm and trustful woman.
I thought a lot in these things when I was very young and did I turned out like I was expecting? Well, I think I am still faraway for that vision, but 17 is my number and this new year happens to be the 2017, so I hope things change; I have been preparing myself slowly for these happenings: I will have to let go past, some dear humans, regrets and fears. And I am ready for the trade, we cannot have all at once, in order to achieve something we must be ready to trade or to convert the present into something higher. I just want to say thanks to 2016, I’ve purge tuns of disagreements that were living inside of me and I felt illuminated for little moments throughout these times. The epiphany of this year would be: we all are worth of the best and only the best, so please stop diving into unhappy persons and situations because that will only bring you more suffering, understand for once that you, and you alone, are worthy of all the goodness in this life. Wishing you all a happy xmas and a happy new year.
Thursday, 1st of December 2016
Frustrated: time is unstoppable and an existencial earthquake.
Porto, 10th of November 2016
Undress the clothes that confine the trueness of this unbodied skin: allow me to know triumph just once! Await, and than drag me through the edge of dark woods to cast my soul over the silver fountains of light: let them fled my fears and the haunting sorrows of a past that is about to revive. Let them replace the dirty mud living in me with aereal white Chrysanthemums; await until my arose and, at my last breath, warm these gelid hands with love and never with doom, ’cause love should always come before it.
Yesterday, late at night, my unrest soul draw this hydrangea accompanied by Schumann and my new botanic book that inspires me to draw beautiful flowers.
2nd of November 2016
my skin is thirsty for rain, the linger rain that fulfill a whole day without regrets, that comes calmly as Schumann and late as Chopin’s melancholic Nocturnes.
The rain that transforms every wistful sorrow into a musing autumnal feeling. My unquiet life should had been full of quietness from the beginning… but, I was born to be bounded to the ephemeral: to be nothing more than a fading silhouette on your foresight.