lullaby #109 14:29

1, 2, 3 — está aí alguém? 10:59

Vão dez anos. Vão passando e vão sendo cada vez menos as publicações. O que diz isto acerca de mim? Não diz tanto acerca de mim como diz acerca do meu leitor. A autora é o mesma — agora com 29 anos e a aceitação da possibilidade de sempre andar à deriva em mares bravios — e o leitor, tu, desse lado, outro.

Tenho que mudar de audiência.

there was 16:59

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/heavyweight/llhen3/14-isabel

"It felt like a paradox. On one hand these letters don't mean anything to me, but on the other hand discarding them just feels wrong. Throughout your life, if it's a good long life, you let go and you let go. Of your ambitions, your hair, the people you love most. And then one day, after a lifetime of saying goodbye to the most important things, you suddenly find yourself unable to unclench your hand from the handle of a suitcase that isn't even yours. And for close to 30 years it seems no one who carried the suitcase could easily let go. Not Ed, not Kendra, even Brad - the most motivated - could only pack the suitcase exit the front door and make it only so far as the curb. And why? Why can't any of us destroy the letters? Is it because we believe in stories about love, the beauty of youth, the idea that somehow contained within this little suitcase a relationship still exists when that's a stand-in for a relationship that we've all had and lost?"

lullaby #108 ou do adeus 21:39

lullaby #107 22:05

e o coração que o conte quantas vezes já bateu p'ra nada 21:58

mas quem tratou de me amar
soube estancar o meu sangue
e soube erguer-me do chão

balulalow / lullaby #106 23:57

Always this winter child,
December's sun sits low against the sky
Cold light on frozen fields,
The cattle in their stable lowing.

When two walked this winter road,
Ten thousand miles seemed nothing to us then,
Now one walks with heavy tread
The space between their footsteps slowing

All day the snow did fall,
What's left of the day is close drawn in,
I speak your name as if you'd answer me,
But the silence of the snow is deafening

How well do I recall our arguments,
Our logic owed no debts or recompense,
Philosophy and faith were ghosts
That we would chase until
The gates of heaven were broken

But something makes me turn, I don't know,
To see another's footsteps there in the snow,
I smile to myself and then I wonder why it is
You only cross my mind in winter

lullaby #105 10:43

lullaby #104 12:53