‘Bout Round Rocks and Doors

I normally don’t think about this. Or, maybe, I’ve just learned how I couldn’t think about this.

“Think about what?”

You could ask me now and then, I could just say: I’m not wise enough to follow Sidarta’s speech regarding “living in the middle”.

Not drink or drink too much – I certainly should not take that last bottle of beer -, feeling the biggest pain or not felling anything – I certainly should not read that book -, loving anyone as the last thing of the world or having a rock instead a heart – I’ve knew that girl -, that’s the only way that I know how to live.

In fact I just shouldn’t read Gaiman’s books anymore. It makes me think ‘bout things that don’t affect me in regular days. A thing like that makes me remember that a “warm” life is not enough… Wake up, go to work, get married, having kids; no it’s not everything that I want to my life.

To be truth with you, getting married – when I thing about her – is something that I really want and having kids – again, thinking about her – is something that seems to me really strong and, definitely, not just warm. But our history is another history!

And then, when I started thinking about things like that, I – a little bit in high spirits – can see some red flowers on the parking lot’s floor. “Ok, it’s just flowers that felt down from a tree”, I could think, but over the concrete it’s something unusual. They don’t belong to that place. Lets go, lets keep walking to the apartment where no one knows me and I’m always alone, and, after that warm decision something makes me stop.

That round rock shouldn’t be there! A simple and small round rock over all of that concrete makes me see how strange can be something outside its place. Taking it in my shaking hand – and feeling a terrible empathy to another one outside its real place – I keep going to my door – thinking that, after that book, I’ll never see a door in the same way – expecting the moment to open that.

The moment when I’ll really know where it will take me. The moment when I’ll be able to go where I really belong…

***
Notas do Editor:
1- Por que em inglês? Culpa do trabalho, culpa do trabalho...
2- Lugar Nenhum (Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman) inspirou algo por aqui.
3- A pedra está aqui, ao meu lado. E sim, ela realmente existe!
4- Foi bom voltar a escrever...