I am almost nineteen years old and I am sick of many things
Like the way the neighbor's dog barks at me when I get home
or how it always rain on New Year's Eve
never being able to find a bra that fits me right
terrible endings of good novels
being expected to know about things I have no interest in
having to wear shoes in the summer time
the girl in my class who always rolls her eyes at the clothes I'm wearing
annoying, catchy songs that get stuck in my head
feeling sad on Sunday evenings
friends that don't text back
people who talk about calories during meals
and the way my History teacher always pronounces my name wrong

But someday I'll be 100 years old
(and you'll be 102)
And I will never get sick of the way
your eyes light up when you wake up next to me
and kiss my chapped lips
and mumble, "Good morning." 

Most of my best writing is about you and you'll never get to read it. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond's glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die. 

-- Mary Elizabeth Frye

Um ano inteiro sem você, um ano inteiro em que pensei em você todos os dias. Amo você pra sempre, você é a estrela mais brilhante do céu. 

trouble

I woke up with the sound of your voice and my eyes opened in the dark. I was so used to seeing you in my dreams that I wasn't scared until I heard it again. I walked to my window and saw you in the yellow street light, looking up at me. You waved excitedly and I went downstairs to let you in, to see what you wanted at 4:23 in the morning. 
I opened the door and the smell of beer rised off of your clothes as you hugged me. 
"Okay, hi, what's up?" I asked, standing in the kitchen in my pijamas, my bare feet on the linoleum. 
"I had to see you!" you slurred. I kept looking at you, wondering how it was possible for someone to look so beautiful under the awkward kitchen lights. 
"So, I was out wih my friends - "
"Drinking, clearly," I interrupted.
You just grinned. "And I realized that I really, really like you and you're so great and cool and different from the other girls."
"Right. Like your girlfriend."
You blushed momentarily then nodded. "She's alright, I guess, but she's not like you, Olivia."
My heart thumped against my chest and sighed. "I think it's time you went home now. Some of us do have school in the morning." 
"I know, yeah, I just really wanted you to know what I felt, okay?" 
I nodded and you pressed your lips to mine, even though my mouth tasted like sleep and yours like beer. You kissed me long enough to awaken the butterflies in my stomach and then you stumbled gracefully (only you could manage to look so graceful while drunk) out of my house and I returned to my bed. 
Tucked between my pillows, a movie of our past four months together (would that be the right word to describe us?) played in my head and tonight, I realized, had been the first time you had come to me and not the other way around. I fell asleep with a dumb smile still plastered to my face.

---

When I walked into Melanie's house for her pool party, I knew you'd be there with your crowd (and your girlfriend, of course.) It's okay, I mean, I was there with my clan as well. Strangely, Melanie is the sort of person who is so nice and gets along with everybody that various cliques of our grade merged together under her roof (and the alcohol definitely made more people willing to show up.) It was just refreshing to see you outside of school (where we didn't - couldn't, I guess - talk) and our usual hidden, meeting spots (where we did a lot more than talk.) 
I kept you on my radar that day, constantly aware of you, despite the large number of other half-naked teenagers there. Eventually, the party dwindled down and while I was waiting alone for my dad to pick me up, I saw an opportunity to talk to you as you headed into the kitchen. I sneaked in after you and closed the door behind me. You were bent over, looking for something in the fridge, the stale lighting making it possible for me to see you. 
"Hey."
"Hi," you said, not looking at me.
"So, how'd you like the party?"
"Eh, Melanie's parties are usually always the same."
"Oh, I wouldn't really know, this is the first one of these I go to."
"Yeah, you seemed like you were having fun," you commented, still looking straight ahead. 
"So do you need any help, or...?" I asked, after an awkward pause.
"I actually don't. You know, I'd just prefer if you didn't talk to me at all."
I blinked, startled by the sharpness in your voice. Only then did I realize that one of your friends was sitting at the kitchen table, flirting with a cheerleader on his lap. Oh. I stalked out, walking towards the gate, pretending that our little exchange (that I had spent all day looking forwards to. Dumb dumb dumb) hadn't left me on the verge of tears. A few minutes later, you ducked out of the house and found me. 
"Are you here to be rude to me again?" I stated. You pulled my crossed arms away, wrapping yours around me, your bare skin warm and pulled me close to you. This was your way of apologizing, I had learned. 
"You know, you can't just toss me around like that. Don't fluctuate, pick whether you want to be always nice or always mean to me."
You nodded and then kissed my forehead and then the tip of my nose. "It's just - you know how it is."
I did know - your girlfriend, my friends, your friends, dumb high school drama. I knew how it was and I was tired of it. 
"I can make it up to you," you offered, pulling me closer. "My parents are going out of town this weekend, so come over on Friday after practice and stay as long as you want." 
I knew I was dumb to be excited by this, flattered even, but - sigh - I was. At that moment, I heard a car beep and I knew it was my cue to leave.
"I'll call you later," you whispered, before kissing me on my favorite spot on my neck. And then you walked towards the house and you were gone.

----

I lay on the stripy comforter on your bed and counted the glow in the dark stars stuck onto your ceiling. Seventeen stars. You kissed my hip bones then, your hand on the insides of my thigh. 
"You're the one I like the most, you know," you mumbled, your voice tickling my skin. At the moment, I felt so completely foolish and enamored by you. Yes, I know. 

You were in my dreams this afternoon and I looked at your long pink nails and I lay down in your lap and just enjoyed talking to you, being close to you, asking you things and you were bashful and blushed and made fun of my curiosity. I touched your hair and said 'You're real, you're real, you're real.' I miss you so much and the worst thing is that you're not here for me to tell you. I hope you know how much we all loved you. 

'Depois de um bom tempo dizendo que eu era a mulher da vida dele, um belo dia eu recebo um e-mail dizendo: "olha, não dá mais". Tá certo que a gente tava quase se matando e que o namoro já tinha acabado mesmo, mas não se termina nenhuma história de amor (e eu ainda o amavamuito) com um e-mail, não é mesmo? Liguei pra tentar conversar e terminar tudo decentemente e ele respondeu:"mas agora eu to comendo um lanche com amigos". Enfim, fiquei pra morrer algumas semanas até que decidi que precisava ser uma mulher melhor para ele. Quem sabe eu ficando mais bonita, mais equilibrada ou mais inteligente, ele não volta pra mim?Foi assim que me matriculei simultaneamente numa academia de ginástica, num centro budista e em um curso de cinema. Nos meses que se seguiram eu me tornei um dos seres mais malhados, calmos, espiritualizados e cinéfilos do planeta. E sabe o que aconteceu? Nada, absolutamente nada, ele continuou não lembrando que eu existia. Aí achei que isso não podia ficar assim, de jeito nenhum, eu precisava ser ainda melhor pra ele, sim, ele tinha que voltar pra mim de qualquer jeito. 

Decidi ser uma mulher mais feliz, afinal, quando você é feliz com você mesma, você não põe toda a sua felicidade no outro e tudo fica mais leve. Pra isso, larguei de vez a propaganda, que eu não suportava mais, e resolvi me empenhar na carreira de escritora, participei de vários livros, terminei meu próprio livro, ganhei novas colunas em revistas, quintupliquei o número de leitores do meu site e nada aconteceu. Mas eu sou taurina com ascendente em áries, lua em gêmeos e filha única! Eu não desisto fácil assim de um amor, e então resolvi que eu tinha que ser uma super ultra mulher para ele, só assim ele voltaria pra mim.Foi então que passei 35 dias na Europa, exclusivamente em minha companhia, conhecendo lugares geniais, controlando meu pânico em estar sozinha e longe de casa, me tornando mais culta e vivida.Voltei de viagem e tchân, tchân, tchân, tchân: nem sinal de vida. Comecei um documentário com um grande amigo, aprendi a fazer strip,cortei meu cabelo 145 vezes, aumentei a terapia, li mais uns 30 livros, ajudei os pobres, rezei pra Santo Antonio umas 1.000 vezes, torrei no sol, fiz milhares de cursos de roteiro, astrologia e história, aprendi a nadar, me apaixonei por praia, comprei todas as roupas mais lindas de Paris. Como última cartada para ser a melhor mulher do planeta, eu resolvi ir morar sozinha. Aluguei um apartamento charmoso, decorei tudo brilhantemente, chamei amigos para a inauguração, servi bom vinho e comidinhas feitas, claro, por mim, que também finalmente aprendi a cozinhar. Resultado disso tudo: silêncio absoluto. O tempo passou, eu continuei acordando e indo dormir todos os dias querendo ser mais feliz para ele, mais bonita para ele, mais mulher para ele. Até que algo sensacional aconteceu. Um belo dia eu acordei tão bonita, tão feliz, tão realizada, tão mulher, que eu acabei me tornando mulher demais para ele. Ele quem mesmo???'

- Martha Medeiros

There have been two occasions that really stick it out in my memory that were times when I called my boyfriend in tears and I was upset and scared and frustrated and he handled it very calmly and talked to me until I stopped crying. That's what love is - it's calling someone at your worst and they are able to remind you that you are not a horrible person and you are going to be okay, it's the fact that when something wrong happened, they were the first person you thought of calling. I am so incredibly blessed to be loved by someone so spectacular. 

I started watching Freaks and Geeks yesterday and oh my word, I have the biggest crush on 19 year old Jason Segel. Like, I already had a huge crush on him nowadays, like in How I Met Your Mother or I Love You, Man but seeing him young made my brain scream 'OH MY WORD, YOU COULD TOTALLY DATE HIM AND IT WOULDN'T BE WEIRD." So yeah, that's what's been going on in my life lately. Like, the last character I felt this emotionally attached to was probably Jesse Pinkman in season 1 and 2. 

But I mean, LOOK AT THAT FACE. SO CUTE.

PS: A couple of people has said things along the lines of 'How had you never seen Freaks and Geeks before?!' to me and I don't really know they've seen it, I mean, if it weren't for the amount of Tumblr screen caps I've seen, I wouldn't even know the show existed. But yeah, the show is cool and so is Jason Segel and James Franco and Seth Rogen and Judd Apatow. 

always

"I kept saying 'always' to her today, 'always always always', and she just kept talking over me and not saying it back. It was like I was already gone, you know? 'Always' was a promise! How can you just break the promise?"

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said.

Isaac shot me a look. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love?" 

I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer. But I thought that if true love did exist, that was a pretty good definition of it. 

"The Fault in Our Stars" - John Green

Ontem eu quase criei um blog nome. Digo 'quase' porque tinha até pensado em um nome bonitinho e meu 'about me' e como seria meu primeiro post mas empaquei na hora de fazer o layout do site porque o Wordpress é muito complicado pra mim. Enfim. Quis criar um novo blog porque ultimamente tenho lido muitos blogs bons - com certeza melhores que esse aqui - mas também porque minha cabeça tem se tornado um lugar muito tumultuado e confuso. Aqui está a minha tentativa de explicar o que se passa na minha cabeça. 

Até meus quinze anos, estudei em escolas internacionais e achava que era a coisa mais natural do mundo fazer amizade com as pessoas, se apaixonar por meninos na sua sala e aí essas pessoas se mudarem para outros países. Afinal, quantas melhores amigas já tinham passado pela minha vida? Quando entrei numa escola brasileira, passei a invejar as meninas que conhecia que tinham tido o mesmo grupo de amigas desde os três anos - afinal, nem conseguia imaginar isso acontecendo comigo! 

E agora de uns tempos pra cá, comecei a me incomodar com a quantidade de pessoas que fisicamente saiem da minha vida. Afinal, por mais que eu admire a ambição deles (e em alguns casos, a coragem de ir embora), não consigo parar de pensar: o que há de tão errado em mim? I mean, porque que essas pessoas todas que eu amo tem ido embora? Já ouvi uma quantidade imensa de quotes melosos (desses que tias gostam de compartilhar no Facebook) sobre como algumas pessoas entram na sua vida pra te ensinar uma lição, ou algo do gênero, mas eu só acabo me sentindo sozinha e abandonada. Cadê o aprendizado nisso? 

I woke up this morning feeling like the loneliest girl in all the world. 

'RED' IS SO GOOD I FELT LIKE CRYING WHEN I HEARD IT FOR THE FIRST TIME AND NOW I JUST WANT TO BE BFFS WITH TAYLOR SWIFT AND HAVE A SLEEPOVER WITH HER AND TALK ABOUT BOYS. 

eros is bullshit: a poem

the theory that people

are always searching for

their other half is 

              bullshit. 

don’t let anyone, not

even a god, tell you 

you are anything less 

than whole.

Found this on Tumblr (without any type of source or indication to who wrote this) and wanted to share it. 

Ezra

The first boy I ever kissed had tattoos on his hands. When he leaned in to touch his lips to mine, his hand rested on my back and I remember thinking about the ink seeping through my clothes and resting on my own bare skin. His mouth tasted like beer and, in the midst of my infatuation, I found it charming. For the rest of the night, we spent it using our mouths, either to speak or kiss. 

He showed me how to blow cigarette smoke in a perfect circle and I taught him how to say 'I love you' in foreign languages and as I watched the vocalization of true love roll off his tongue like candy, like they meant nothing, I felt a surge of joy that this was the boy I was sitting with on a pale September night. After the playlist started to repeat itself - as much as I may like 'Just Like Heaven', I don't need to listen to it three times in one night - I told him I was going to leave and after receiving a flurry of kisses and slurred words of 'I loved meeting you' and 'Let's do this again sometime', I walked out the door. 

Three short weeks later, I heard the news, or better yet, overheard it, since I was walking to class when I heard a group of girls talking about it. He was dead. I stopped moving, perplexed. I skipped my Religion class that afternoon and sat on the swings of an empty playground, drowning in my thoughts, unsure of what to do. Was I meant to go to the funeral? Should I wear black? Would his close friends notice me and wonder who I was?

I sat by myself until the sun hid behind the hills. Eventually, I did go to the funeral and I stood back, feeling out of place and lost. After the mourners started to peel away to their cars, speaking in hushed tones,  I came closer. Looking down at the numerous wreath of flowers covering the grave, I thought about his face, his laughter, his eyes, and how all of the things that made him were gone. 

I thought about the tattoos on his hands and wished that that night, they had actually jumped onto my skin so that I'd always have a secret part of him with me. I was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder, presumably belonging to his father (they had the same eyes.) 

"Did you know him very well?" he asked, his voice kind and heavy with sorrow. 

I looked up, blinking a few tears away. "I wish I had." I really wish I had. 

----

Just something I wrote recently. 

Hey, you and me are going to slow-dance to this song someday. You'll put your hands on my hips as we sway in a room that's ours (really, really just ours) and I'll say something dumb about the way you dance and you'll kiss me softly on that ticklish place on neck. I'll hold you a little bit tighter and you won't mind and I'll tell you that when I was eighteen years old, I imagined dancing with you to this song and it'll be a sad and nostalgic and hopeful moment. And if it's not, well, then that's okay, too. I love you to the moon and back, bonitinho.