Tag Archive | prose

I have been (over)thinking

I feel restless. I feel miserable. I feel lost.

I really don’t know what to do with myself lately. Can anyone relate to this feeling of helplessness, where you know that something has do be done but you have no idea what or how? Has anyone overcome a stage like this that can give me any pointers or tips on how to go about this incredible need for something (I really don’t know what), for change, for purpose?

Family matters are tense, to be soft on it. I find myself very much on my own when it comes to close blood ties. My relationship with my mother tends to deteriorate further and further with each interaction and I do not know how to go about it right now except distancing myself, for all it does is hurt me and bring me further down. Then, this distancing – perhaps even severing ties (at least for the time being) – also hurts me and brings me further down, fills me with fears of being all alone in the world, helpess and unsupported and just sort of…orphaned.

I know I am not: I have other family that I feel would lend a helping hand and be there for me, as well as good friends – the family I chose and that chose me – who wish to see me well, desire me to be close to them and would extend a helping hand whenever needed. I have my guy, supportive and caring, ever more patient towards my quirks that annoy him – really making the effort for us to be all we can as a team, as partners, as companions. Yet this person, my mother, is one of the grandest foundations of my life, along with being also a source of many of my “traumas” – I really don’t want to call them traumas as I don’t feel my stuff is as severe as what you would call trauma, let’s go with ‘dents’ instead. Together with my grandmother (though not biological), still living and nearing 92 years of age; they comprise the living relatives that I remember being there my entire existence. The onset of dementia brought by a nasty fall, along with all that old age brings, is taking my grandma away from me day by day – living away from her, every time I go on a visit the pain is sharp and dull at the same time. Oh, how the forced perception of mortality (others’ and my own) hurts!

What is the point in all this? Why struggle so much, to have, to amass, to buy, to be rich…? Nothing of it goes with us – should mankind really be such a slave of its own construct?

Yes, I have been feeling terribly non-conformist. Tired of the way we live. I feel myself drowning in meaningless struggle for something I don’t see as truly purposeful or suitable for me and the happiness and serenity I long for.

Any thoughts or advice? Am I alone in this?

(I did go a long way on this one, didn’t I? Sorry folks!)

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Carta a um amor longínquo…

δ Agosto, 2011 δ

Meu amor,

               há 5 anos que nos tocámos pela primeira vez, naquele lugar entre aqui e ali, entre sonho e limbo, entre terra e céu. Há 5 anos que te instalaste no meu coração, no meu pensamento, na minha alma. E aí ficaste, como se me tivesses lançado um feitiço.
               Dirias talvez que foi o contrário, a feitiçaria foi minha e foi de mim que ficaste cativo, com prazer. Cheguemos a acordo, foi mútuo e inesperado…e oh tão bom! Lutei contra a certeza de ti e deste sentir, então, temendo estar a ficar louca. Aposto que lutaste também, fugindo a sensações, anseios e sentimentos que há muito esqueceras que existiam e estavas certo de não ser capaz de sentir, pensar ou experienciar.
              Demos tanto um ao outro, meu amor, damos tanto às nossas almas imortais com esta união que o amor nos proporciona. Com esta entrega, este fogo, esta ternura risonha que agora me aquece o peito, ao lembrar os nossos despiques e provocações.
              Quase quero chorar, sinto água a juntar-se nas pestanas, mas luto contra as lágrimas. Recordar-te, recordar-nos, é um prazer. Deveria ser fonte unicamente de alegria. Se me assola a ânsia de te carpir, é porque te sinto a falta, porque as saudades sufocam tanto que o ar que respiro mal é suficiente.
              Amante, amigo, confidente, companheiro, amor. És tudo isso e muito mais, meu querido. E eu que sempre fui boa com palavras, fiquei sem vocabulário capaz de dizer o quanto te amo.
              Pergunto-me tantas vezes o que estarás a fazer, a pensar, a sentir. Pergunto-me se teremos outra oportunidade de nos termos nos braços um do outro, perdidos. Pergunto-me se sentes a minha falta, se pensas em mim. Se ainda me amarás como antes.
              Meu querido, meu amor. Sonho contigo, acordada e entre os lençóis da minha cama solitária. Fecho os olhos e vejo o teu rosto, sinto o teu cheiro, respiro o teu sorriso e o teu calor. E quero-te a meu lado, cada vez mais, a cada instante que passo sem ti.
              Os nossos planos para um amanhã partilhado foram-se, desfazendo-se em fumo? Não creio. Muito menos creio que assim o aches. Apenas os adiámos, até ao momento em que o destino nos volta a juntar e transforme em viver o nosso sonhar.
              Eu e tu, o “amor e uma cabana” talvez. Mas o amor, sempre o amor, sempre. Acima de tudo e de todos, para sempre.
             Um dia terei uma palavra que te descreva e ao que sinto por ti e tu por mim. Mais do que meu amor, mais do que meu amado, meu amante, meu querido, meu anjo; mais do que alma gémea, perdição, paixão. Consigo dizer o que és, o que não és, aquilo que és mais que…mas não consigo algomerar, aglutinar, conjurar, combinar os vocábulos para fazer compreender ao mundo este sentimento, este Amor.
              Tu tornas-me inteira, quase o velho cliché do “completas-me” mas não é bem isso. “Apenas” sou mais eu quando estou contigo; quando te tenho ao meu lado. Não receio ser eu mesma, sem vergonhas, contigo. Amar-te e saber que me amas faz-me acreditar em mim e nesse “potencial escondido” que dizem que todas as pessoas têm.
             Sinto a tua falta, tenho saudades de ti, de nós e de quem sou contigo. Mal posso esperar pelo nosso “para sempre”.

Amo-te, antes agora e sempre.

Tua, inteiramente
 Mashiara

Pensado em coisas… | Thinking of stuff

Ando cansada do mundo. Deste paradigma que impulsiona a sociedade.
Não me faz sentido; não ressoa no meu sentir; não parece mais funcionar para a Humanidade.

Pensar nestas coisas angustia-me. Pensar no que nos aguarda nos dias vindouros, é um exercício intelectual que me assusta. Mas dou por mim, cada vez mais, a revisitar estes pensamentos e a re-sentir estas angústias e temores.

Será que podemos mudar alguma coisa? Como? Por onde começar?

Não sei. Não sei. Não sei. Mas há que tentar.

 

I have been feeling tired of the world. Of this paradigm that drives society.
It does not make sense to me; it does not find an echo within my feeling; it doesn’t seem to work for Humanity anymore.

 

Thinking about these things leaves me anguished. Thinking about wait awaits us in days to come, is an intelectual exercise that frightens me. But I find myself, ever more, reviting these thoughs and feeling these anguishes and fears once again.

Can we change anything? How? Where to start?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. But we must try.

The Crest of Snow and Copper – Ending

** Warning *** Mature content ahead *** My “sort of” erotic piece ***
I’ll be posting this short story in a few installments, weekly. Would love to have your feedback on it, pretty please?
The Ending:

– It’s not what you think… I’m sorry! – He started explaining, while her anger built up slowly to a desire to beat him up. – I really don’t know how to explain this any better than saying that that marking is something that I bestow upon beings extremely rarely. It means something more than ‘I’ve been here’. It means you belong to me. But it also means I belong to you.

She was dumb shocked. Had he just said that she belonged to him? More, had he just said he belonged to her? Something seemed extremely impossible to her in all this, now. When was she going to wake up, for this could only be another dream?

– You did something to me… marked me, to show I belong to you and you belong to me? – The girl asked, confused. – But most people aren’t able to see that marking? So what’s the point? And what do you mean with belonging?

– The mark, my seal, my crest, if you wish to call it like that. It may not be visible to the majority, but even though they don’t see it, they will know you have someone. – He started explaining, with a soft smile on those rosy ‘just-the-perfect-amount-of-thick’ lips. – You did something to me, you know? You awakened something in me I had no idea I had. You saw in me things, a person, not even I had seen. You have marked me long before I marked you. And that marking you gave me is just as invisible as your own.

She was speechless. All that was like him saying he loved her, actually. Maybe even more than that. The girl could only smile, understanding his actions. She could only hold him tight as she kissed him. She could only try to hold back those tears of joy that ran down her cheeks into his face. She had never felt like this. She had never been felt like this.

Resting again on his chest, the girl curled with the boy, both slipping slowly into the land of dreams. Though no dream could ever compare to how they felt in each other’s arms.

The Crest of Snow and Copper – XX

** Warning *** Mature content ahead *** My “sort of” erotic piece ***
I’ll be posting this short story in a few installments, weekly. Woukd love to have your feedback on it, pretty please?
Part 20:

Suddenly stopping the reckless rocking movement of both bodies, they knew they had reached ecstasy as if their beings were only one. Frames frozen in place, rigid, holding their breath under tightly shut eyes. One final thrust was like the epilogue of their encounter, neither willing to leave the other’s closeness and warmth.

How long had it been since the two of them had been standing in her bedroom, facing each other before that first kiss? It seemed as time was standing still since then.

Dropping heavily on to the bed, hugging each other, they struggled to calm racing hearts and regain control of their breathing. Once again, an unexpected sweet action from him, as the young man pulled the bed covers over their naked and exhausted bodies. Black silk sheets and a red cashmere blanket, the young woman now noticed. Was this his bedroom? It could only be, she decided; it felt just like he felt against her skin: warm, strong, mysterious, exotic and slightly rough around the edges. And a bit erotic.

She rolled on her back, snuggling against him and resting her head on his chest. His heart pounded in her ears, mixing with the sound of her own. As the girl so did, his arm reached to cradle her while his hand caressed her hair. Such caring from him was somehow weird, since he was not prone to displays of affection, but she liked it. Her hand drew shapes across his chest, absentmindedly. There was no obvious need for words as they lay there; still dwelling on the rush of sensations they had shared. Even so, he spoke, breaking the silence that layered the atmosphere.

– I want to give you something. – He said, eyes fixed on the top of her head, as his hand traced her body down to the small of her back.

The girl moved to face him, resting her chin on his chest, looking at the boy with curiosity.

The Crest of Snow and Copper – XIX

** Warning *** Mature content ahead *** My “sort of” erotic piece ***
I’ll be posting this short story in a few installments, weekly. Woukd love to have your feedback on it, pretty please?
Part 19:

Settling to a comfortable pace, they resumed their lovemaking, his hands roaming freely throughout her body and vice-versa. One large warm hand found its way down the young woman’s torso, toying with her navel and going to rest with slight pressure on her clitoris, as the second hand moved into an embraced, holding her tenderly. The girl’s back arched, responding to this new stimulus his hand offered, while her fingernails dug slightly into the straining surface of his thighs. Her body descended on his again and again, with a swirling movement from her hips, each time going a bit faster, a bit harder.

The physical manifestations of their arousal made them feel like candy apple, sweat droplets mingling, both of them red and horny, panting and shaking against each other. Man and woman both knew it would not be long before their encounter came to an end. They were now practically longing for it, as refraining from release was becoming ever so slightly painful and difficult to bear. Soon, the threshold of their orgasm would present itself, but none wished to go past that point of no return just yet.

Going at an increasing pace, their thrusting becoming rougher and their breathing shallower, the couple felt close to exploding in pleasure and anticipation. She steadied herself by firmly gripping his hips, her thumbs caressing the outlines of his gun slings, while he held her close to him, tightly in a hug, his chin finding support on her left shoulder. Pushing back from her a bit, he noticed the outline of her shoulder blades, in tension. The bones sticking out slightly against her tender white skin made the movement nearly hypnotizing. Giving in to yet another urge, he lost himself in the pleasure of nibbling and suckling those areas, feeling the slight contractions his doing so caused through her body.

The Crest of Snow and Copper – XVIII

** Warning *** Mature content ahead *** My “sort of” erotic piece ***
I’ll be posting this short story in a few installments, weekly. Woukd love to have your feedback on it, pretty please?
Part 18:

Sweat made their skins glisten in the candlelight as their dance continued; silent apart muted sighs and breaths. He loved every time she began shaking her head sideways, as if losing a battle against herself. She leaned up, grabbing his neck as her mouth rushed to his kiss. Ginger red and raven black locks now mingled as the rest of their bodies were. His hand cupping her rear end was the only thing that prevented her from falling and he squeezed each buttock gently as new sensations unmasked themselves in that different position. The man sighed against her lips, which she nibbled on frantically, after having planted soft kissed on his closed eyes, suckling on his earlobes and softly biting along his jaw line and chin.

She was wild, as if she had finally found a freedom she had long awaited for. Every few moments, their eyes met before closing again to taste the pleasure with their minds. Every time they caught each other’s gaze, it only added to the fire blazing in on their insides. Even so, they locked eyes on eyes, widened orbs speaking what they lacked in words.

Silently agreeing to a want for change, both bodies moved in their own secret dance against one another, adjusting to a new stance. Both regretted the seconds their intimate contact was ceased, only to melt into an ocean of sensation as they were once again joined.

Her back slid down his chest and abdomen as she once more received him in her. Strong masculine hands cupped her breasts, barely able to contain the plump roundness, as she pressed herself against his torso. Their feet rested close to each other’s, toes toying with their nearest counterpart. The man giggled, which seemed a bit odd and out of character for him, before gently biting the spot where her neck and shoulder met. That was the moment she found out he was ticklish. Resting her head on his solid muscular shoulder, she let out a sigh of contentment as they began moving once more. It was the only audible proof of yearning she could allow herself to manifest, fearing that, with sound, she would break the spell they were weaving.