Letter

Hey there,

It’s been a long time since I wrote a letter to anyone...much less one in english...but knowing you can’t understand it leaves me soothed. Someone else will have to translate it for you. Find the words that elude me in my language, find the feeling of hopelessness in his words to describe me, as best as they can. And they will fail. And in failing, you will understand this letter means more than the eloquent words written in it, it means you and me and where this is going.
It’s been 25 long years of hardships, wrongful turns propelled by fate or destiny or maybe just blind stupidity, mellowed out by those around me, keeping me on track when I feel like just crashing out of the rails.
I’m not an easy person, I’m stubborn, spoiled and the sense of responsability still eludes me every once in a while, yet I feel like I will be okay. As one of my best friends once said to me “We’ll be fine, because we have to.”
But in this crazy little journey, you and I got lost in separate ways. Our tracks kept parting ways and we did nothing to stop it. You got your life, I got mine, we’re both adults...yet lately, more and more I can’t seem to find the will to visit you, to spend time with you. You’re not the same person you were when we met. I was a lot younger back then, you had me hooked on every word you said, you passed on your beliefs to me and for some of them, I thank you.
You made me a better person, no doubt about it.
And in doing so, you somewhere got lost in your own ways, selfish that I am I didn’t pull you back, I failed to realise you needed someone there to lead you back on track like you’ve done for me countless times. I gave up on you. As much as I hate to admit it, I did.
Now you’re lost somewhere in your illusion of a better life and I can hardly recognise you. You lost your fire, your passion, what made you so damn heroic. You live shelled out of your real self, haunted by what you used to be.
You are hardly the same.
I don’t think of you half as much as I used to...and ten times less than I should...
But then again, neither do you...
We’re even.
Maybe someday we’ll pick up where we left off.

We were once a great team.

“Se não nos virmos antes, até depois.”

Telefona-me

"Se hoje queres saltar,

 Eu quero ser razão"

Num rasgo de coragem, incentivado pela minha quarta bebida, peço-lhe o número para depois lhe ligar.

Chama-se Maria, vive no Porto mas está cá durante 3 meses a fazer o estágio para a ordem dos advogados. 

Quando a pergunta termina, a palavra "número" paira no ar pelo que me parece uma eternidade. 

Neste caso, o dilatar do tempo deve-se ao facto de a Maria ser linda. De olhos verdes, cabelo escuro e dentes incrívelmente brancos que contrastam com o baton preto quando se ri, como o faz agora, não sei se de mim ou para mim, mas tira da mala uma caneta e puxa-me pela mão.

"Vais-me levar onde?" pergunta ela, enquanto escreve os números na palma da minha mão. 

"Não é para mim. É para uma amiga minha que te achou gira." olha-me mais uma vez e finge-se surpresa, de boca aberta.

"Essa piada custou-te um número" responde, sorriso sempre nos lábios enquanto escreve oito dos nove dígitos, desenhando um ponto de interrogação no último algarismo.

Já não me lembro de como foi o encontro, nem sei se me lembro realmente da Maria, mas acho que nunca me esquecerei dos 6 telefonemas que fiz para sair com ela.

E que o último dígito era o 5. 

Fuck you Lisbon

"I'm all lost in the supermarket

 I can no longer shop happily
 I came in here for a special offer
 A guaranteed personality"

September comes in and it's already taking its toll, leaving a heartbroken Dan in a half-cleaned room on a Saturday night.
The last of my free wingmen got hitched with this beautiful girl who's way above his league.
I know it won't last, but who am I to deny or criticise a freshly started relationship between Alex and another one of his future ex-girlfriends, when the expression "Really hot" isn't enough to describe her - and despite her intellectual shortcomings (who doesn't know who Murakami is?...) - still ends up way above average in the "looks + brains" equation.
And so this is how this "summer ride" ends...my last carefree Saturday, spent at home, wondering how packed might the clubs be.
You are a cruel mistress Lisbon.
Incredibly enticing yet completely forbidden to a guy with no single friends left and no high-end connections to end the night in any classy joint.
It's a "love-hate" relationship between me and this town...and it's bordering on "hate" right now.
Fuck all of you who are out tonight clubbing.