Sobre pássaros e outras espécies selvagens

I had this great dream about you. I went to sleep thinking about us and about how it felt to have your body enveloping mine. About how scared I was when we first started having sex because it seemed that what drove you was anger. So that I had to show you how to make love. Don’t get me wrong, I love fucking. In the most stupid, meaningless ways and places. But that is what children do, when they’re playing and discovering a new world. Love is growing up, is trying indefinetly to master an art.

In the dream, we were at the supermarket being stupid, laughing about nothing at all. We bought cider and condoms and we forgot we also needed to buy something to eat. Because it felt like we already had everything. Was that my mistake ? Did I act as if I weren’t already whole before you ? You didn’t complete me, because no one does. Maybe my broken soul, my laziness and always being late are all I am sure of, and it all completes me. And if we were always laughing together, why did you try to control my smiles ? Why did you think they belonged to you ? Why did you start telling me what I could and couldn’t do ? Did I let you become « the jealous boyfriend » ? When did you become my enemy ?

It was so weird this dream. But only because of how real it seemed. It reminded we were once, twice, thrice, happy. And so much so that it made me forgive you. But it also reminded me that when I left, we weren't happy anymore. We were driving across the country, fighting the wilderness, just like you'd said you wanted to do with me. I know you felt safe. I know you felt like you belonged for the first time in your life. I know the only reason why you seem overly confident is because you feel like you always have to be the best, to be prepared to fight people and show them you can defeat them if necessary. I am sorry you we brought up like that, and I am sorry you ended up feeling threatened by me. I understand you. I know I broke your heart. But weren't you already screwed up when we met ? Is it all my fault or would it be easier for you if it were?

A crazy bird suddenly invaded our car. You were driving and until then the wilderness was just a concept for you, so that you didn’t know what to do. I started panicking and laughing at the same time, so absurd it was that dream. I didn't know in which country we were, but the bird was an arara, and I grew up surrounded by those in my hometown. They have sharp beaks but they are the most docile creatures on earth. If you let them. And also if you feed them papayas. I opened all the windows in order to let it go, but it didn’t seem that it wanted to leave. She got scared. She hesitated for a moment and looked me in the eyes. You started to get angry with me. « Take care of it already, I’m driving here ». I didn’t recognize your tone. I gave her my arm and she took it. I showed her out nicely and she went away quietly. « Remember you can always fly away », it seemed what she was telling me. I looked at you with a nervous smile. You were silent. I wanted to laugh, and I wanted for us to laugh together. I touched the back of your head, timidly. You didn’t say a word. We drove for what it seemed like hours and I had to control my tears so I wouldn’t start crying, pissing you off even more.

My wings still knew how to fly. I have stood still for a while longer cause I was afraid to leave you. I was afraid that you would never feel safe again. “I love you so much”, I said, and it felt like you didn’t believe I meant it. « But it doesn’t mean I have to accept this cage you’ve put me in ». I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to break you. All I've always wanted to do was to mend you. But people are broken by people every day, and they have to understand that not always it is because mankind is evil. I am not an evil bitch, I am a gracious bird. I thought you saw it and I thought you understood. I knew I had to fly away in order to feel whole again. You didn’t complete me, you diminished me. You wanted to shrink me so that I could fit you, so I would be a bandage to your open wounds. So that I would be your little woman, so that I would be your trophy.

I’m thankful I had that dream last night. We've never seen an arara together and we've never actually driven into the wilderness. You were too scared to love me and, still, I loved you with all my heart. But you don’t know it yet. I want you to be happy and to get to know other girls, but I am also afraid for you. Afraid that you still don’t know how to undress your soul, because I know you can undress beautifully. I know you can fuck quite skillfully, I know you can even make breakfast. You can say “good morning” with a sweet boyish smile, and in dozens of different languages. I know I gave all I could and it almost emptied me. I’m finally whole again, but I know you aren’t. I’m afraid of your anger, even though you are so far away from me now. I was never afraid you’d hit me or hurt me physically. But I am afraid for those other girls, because you didn’t know how to make love. You looked like a psycopath fucking and it was really creepy at first. But I knew it was because no one ever called you from home - and that when I eventually felt like home you were able to be sweet when we were having sex. I hope you will stop blaming me someday and learn how to be with someone. I don't mean to be condescending and act like I already know it all, it's just that I’ve definitely learned a lot from you. I've blossomed. I’ve learned how to molt, and I’ve learned that it is not wrong to do it. I’ve learned one can always fly away if someone is trying to cut off their wings. Because our wings are the most important thing we have - it is not being loved by someone else.

Have a good night sleep and know that. Even though we miss being with someone, we don’t miss being with each other. I was a bird and you were a shark.

Tudo que sabia fazer era citar, citar, citar. Não podia mais sentir, sentir, sentir. Conseguira até hoje muito bem sentir sem compreender – mas o tanto de estrago que já havia causado por causa disso! Se bem que o problema não fora sentir sem compreender (as pessoas pareciam incapazes de compreender o que nunca haviam sentido), não conseguira sentir sem exasperar, sensibilizar-se na ponta dos dedos. Conseguia seguir sem entender. Vive-se ainda que não se entenda, e quem foi o infeliz que primeiro afirmou que ter sensibilidade não é a mesma coisa que ter razão? Mas sentimento todos têm, sensibilidade nem não! Metodologia: tentativa e erro. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but maybe three, maybe four, maybe five... Te escrevo mais uma vez para aplacar minha inquietude, te escrevo agora que não mais me queres e sou livre! Livre para te idear como bem queira, agora que não posso mais conhece-lo. Mas você é compreensivo, você sente, você compreende, você tenta... e você acerta. Agora que não quer mais tentar. Tento desenhar teu rosto em minha mente com os poucos resquícios que deixou, teus hábitos de antigamente que adotei para mim, teu cigarro de palha, tua espera solitária. Você me recusa gentilmente – recusa doce, sutil, suave. Me é possível esboçar teu sorriso complacente, teu sorriso de quem não pode mais, de quem não quer... de quem solamente entende.

Esbocei chamar teu nome. Não soube qual alfabeto utilizar. Desenhei o contorno do teu rosto com as cinzas de um cigarro. Possuía uma estranha serenidade. Reconhecimento inexprimível – a sensação familiar que tive rememorando ver-te pela primeira vez. Enchem-se de água minhas retinas, marulhas minh’alma e ainda assim minhas pupilas seguem ressecadas. Ouço alguém que passa na rua a assobiar uma velha canção, uma canção que poderia ser a mesma usada por meu pai usava para me ninar. Abro a boca mais uma vez. É que o nome está na ponta da língua, mas não pode ser exprimido. É aquilo que foi dito inconscientemente quando eu estava de carona em sua bicicleta – mas não me lembro se era verão ou inverno. Você fazia um esforço tremendo e eu só te observava. Você olhava pra frente. Fizera menção de te beijar quando paramos no sinal e, quando você reparou, voltou a pedalar novamente.
Penso em quantas casas já tive ao redor do mundo e em como a nenhuma delas realmente pertenci. Você acende outro cigarro enquanto eu termino mais uma garrafa de cerveja. Solto um arroto involuntário e, antes que perceba, sorrio com naturalidade. Você me olha com ternura, parecendo se conter para não dizer novamente “sos muy linda”. Eu fecharia a cara instantaneamente e te repreenderia por seus cumplidos baratos.
-You drink like a russian boy. – você diz simplesmente, após um trago demorado em seu décimo cigarro.
-Por qué hablas conmigo en inglês?, yo demando.
Me confundo com aquele idioma. Que língua deveria falar? Olho para tuas íris furta-cor, não sei mais se és preto opaco ou límpido azul. Faço com meus dedos o contorno do teu rosto, a bituca do cigarro já apagada – triangular, redondo? –não obtenho forma alguma. Wo bist du? Was suchst du? Was willst du?
Eu quero te tocar, mas não sei quem é você, quando faço menção de te abraçar e você se afasta. O nome que devo chamar me escapa novamente. Não sei em que língua devo falar, não sei onde posso te encontrar. Meus amantes se mesclam em minha mente inquieta. Delirium tremens!, já não sei mais qual era aquele líquido que sorvia de tua boca entreaberta, essa fumaça que tragava de seus lábios pálidos. Quer dizer, eu quero te dizer, eu quero te dizer... Eu quero-te, sem ter que dizer mais nada, sem ter que me explicar. Há maneiras de tê-lo, sem saber quem é você?
Eu quero tocar o mundo. Eu não quero mais estar sozinha. É esse o preço a se pagar?
Só não vá se perder por aí...