I'm a wordy person. Not because I talk too much... But I believe in them very much
Ando em uma fase de secura no tocante à escrita, e essa foi uma das poucas poesias que consegui escrever ano passado. Tenho um negócio com a melancolia, a tristeza, as decepções, que eu só consigo escrever bem sobre elas. Até as minhas poesias mais felizes conseguem ser minimamente melancólicas.
Why did you come
If you didn’t have any intention to stay?
Why did you make me feel passionated
Knowing that it was not your will?
Why did you tell me beautiful words
When you did not feel it?
Only to let me with them alone?
— I’m alone by myself sufficiently…
Firstly, why did you first talk to me
If you had no wishes to start something,
anything? Any kind of thing?
W h y you came at me?
You could have come
Because that’s how everything starts: something comes, something happens and something begins.
But at least you could have not said the things you’ve said to me.
I’m a wordy person, not because I talk too much, but because I believe in them very much.
Why did you make me dream
About foolish things you’ve said
If you did not mean it?
Why did you fill me with such a pure desire of dreaming and wanting and hoping for such a kind of passion and maybe a possible kindly love
Having inside of you the certain of not wanting to live something like this at all?
I have no idea why people say words they don’t mean it
Feelings they don’t feel it, dreams they don’t dream it
I wonder why… but I have absolutely no clue.
I’m a wordy person. Not because I talk to much — I believe in them.
I never get close to say something I’m sure I don’t want neither feel.
It hurts. It hurts.
… Say something that it’s not real to someone that would like very much to hear.
It hurts. It hurts.
But why, why did you come?
Enviado por Larissa Maciel em 18/02/2021
Código do texto: T7187764
Classificação de conteúdo: seguro
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