Now, I only have left to find breath
As a lover.
To not look at maps, to remain in myself,
To not walk certain streets, to forget that once
Certain book was mine.
Or to make song
And to tell you that all is the same:
The city, friends and the sea.
Waiting for you,
Waiting for you.
I still go to Teté’s week after week,
Remember there?
Today she spoke of rifles firing the dead.
I know she loves me, that is perhaps why
I feel you in her living room,
Even if now you are not there.
And it’s felt in conversation,
Or perhaps I get the impression,
Of absence and you,
Of absence and you.
I wouldn’t want failure in the wise crime
That is to remember.
Or in the inevitable flaw that is
To long for small and silly things
Like, in a crowd,
To step on your toes.
And laugh and laugh and laugh;
Late nights and early mornings without sleep.
Yes, it’s different without you.
Very different without you.
Ideas are bullets today and I cannot
Bear flowers for you,
Today, I wish I was old and very wise and able
To say what I have not been able to say here,
To speak like a tree
With my shadow towards you.
Like a book saved in the ocean,
Like a dead person who learns to kiss,
For you, for you.
For you, for you.