The Rose Garden

Tuesday, 5th of June 2018

 
June, red roses bloomed to rest peacefully, one by one, under my eyes. And you, my love? Where have you been? Would you be fully merry to see them as I do in this very moment? I can’t hear your voice neither your answer, but, in secret, I will linger, hover and wait for you in this endless garden of roses.

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Souls

Wednesday, 23rd of May 2018

Forever incarnating souls. My feet earthwards and my head conquering the heaven. Multitudes of lives. Immeasurably away, my soul became a fragment, instead of the universe itself. A soul growing unearthly and gleaming in this otherworldly life, laying lonesome above the lilies, longing to reach the never seen arms. And Finally, someone came to unite two in one. After all, I was never alone, I was just wandering blind.

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Porto, 6th of April 2017

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Porto, 6th of April 2017

I’ve encountered the immaterial, the boreal… The soft light that gently touches the flower of the deads after so much suffering. I’ve encountered something that only belongs to those who live in Asylum. In desertion from the common senses. I’ve touched the invisible and felted it like rain drops and spring petals. And I shed a tear, only one and let it linger above Schubert and the white chrysanthemums. I let the boreal house my soul, confine it into something purer, undress it and triumph on the edge of the light for once.

The Enclosed Garden

11th of September 2016

 We hold in ourselves a suspend place called the enclosed garden. Is fairness is made of sparkling roses, gentle moss and elegant little ivies. Our soul knows keenly this place, full enchantments, because every time she faces a war, it is here that she returns to revive. Mine has been there for a while: bathing in roses, eating the magic from starlights — healing. Now, she breathes profoundly, she is genuine and pure again. She is not covered with the mantel of fears that we all wear. She let it fall into the floor to become moss, and than earth.  She wears now a translucent dress made of hope, mercy and crystalline grace.

 

Where are you going, Little Princess?

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                                                                                        7th of September 2016

Dear Diary,

This morning, memories of my infancy flood through my eyes  – my grandfather appeared to me with his tenderness and I heard him call for me: “Little Princess, where are you going?”. I was less than 5 years old, my feet were small and fragile. Around me was the little paradise raised by my grandmother and grandfather’s hands. A vivid bougainvillea climbed through the walls with gracefulness: it was so immense and so utterly beautiful to gaze it. Peaceful I was in those days, I was part of everything and I wasn’t apart from nothing. I was fearless and pure. I didn’t felt emptiness or loneliness because I was bounded to a secret imaterial world where such a thing didn’t exist. Those days of joy where my grandfather father’s hand was still reachable are felt today with affection and nostalgia.