i cannot even describe...

...how much i'd like to go for a run...

it starts

the end is where we start from. and every phrase
and sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
taking its place to support the others,
the word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
an easy commerce of the old and the new,
the common word exact without vulgarity,
the formal word precise but not pedantic,
the complete consort dancing together)
every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
every poem an epitaph. and any action
is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.

in Four Quartets

a descoberta

no more quick patch-up feelings...

... i want the real thing [again]

empty promises

quando a gente gosta, é claro que a gente cuida,
fala que me ama, só que é da boca para fora,
ou você me engana ou você me cuida,
onde está você agora?

em estado de contemplação...

... e adaptação ao novo meio

o que era velho, estático e construído, demonstra afinal ser totalmente novo, e com muito mais profundidade que esperava

mas falta qualquer coisa...

[and that's why i can't find inspiration]

cinderella

…but nothing lasts forever,
always is a lie
though i know it in my heart:
that i’ll love you
‘till the day i die

the course of true love never did run smooth

or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
war, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it,
making it momentary as a sound,
swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
brief as the lightning in the collied night
that, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
and ere a man hath power to say 'behold!'
the jaws of darkness do devour it up;
so quick bright things come to confusion

desencontros

in the end, we're all but lost souls trying to live everyday the best we can...

everywhere i look, i only find people who fail to believe, who are too hurt to get back to that special place where everything is amazing, magic and possible.
¨
[after all, nothing is more painful than a shattered dream]

settled...

...finalmente...

home

there are [at least] seven reasons to fall in love with

never understimate the determination of a quiet man

Duncan Smith

what is there beyond your dreams?...

[...and where do dreams come from?]

in the dark

midnight creeps so slowly into the hearts
who need more than they get,

daylight deals a bad hand to a
man who has laid too many bets

chegada a Lisboa II

apparently it takes much longer to sort out a new home than a life...

525.600 minutes [how do you measure a year?]

there is no future
there is no past

[thank god this
moment is not the last]

there's only us
there's only this
forget regret or
life is yours to miss

there's only now
there's only here
give in to love
or live [forever] in fear
no other path
no other way
no day like today

la vie boheme

freedom, truth, beauty and love...

chegada a lisboa

slowly, i'm settling in: as i start unpacking, my mind wonders on this old new place, full of memories of a former self that will never come back

a map on my hand, with some stories and places, but mostly undrawn with sketches, projects, dreams and hopes, starts uncovering a restless, almost silent, desire to call this place home

the traveller is still here: this is not, by any chance, the last stop;

however, this is the birth of something unfamiliar so far: a port from where, as thousands of men hundred years ago, i can always leave and return with new stories, discoveries and experiences to share

traveller

i don't really belong anywhere,
yet
here i am