My Dear Melancoly - Blog Posts

‘‘No se toca en el lugar donde una vez te dijeron que dolía...’’

- ...

As risadas

O dedo em minha direção

Os xingamentos

Os julgamentos

A lagrima nunca derramada

Ou a lagrima que desce com outras

Como uma avalanche

Que basta uma frase

Para desmoronar

Eu não lembro agora

Talvez nunca lembre

Mas eu sinto no meu osso

Na minha nuca

Nas minhas vísceras

Cada palavra

Cada risada

Cada olhadinha

Eu nunca lembrei

Mas nunca vou esquecer

Sempre com medo

De algo que não sei o que é

Melancholic Medical Student by the Sea

Salty air, grey fog, chilly breeze, cricket chirps, full moon, partially cloudy sky, slippery rocks, cold sand, paper cut, oversized faded blue plaid shirt, chemistry books on the floor, cold abandoned coffee, black cat sleeping an emerald green flannel, heavy rain tapping on the window, cold ears, neatly folded navy scrubs, warm candlelight, unfinished lab report, iodine, verses from Hamlet running through my mind as I drift into daydreams…unable to concentrate, it is cold and I keep reading the same page about aortic aneurysms, dried out perrywinkles, half eaten toast, Franz Schubert’s Schwanengesang, D. 957: IV. Ständchen playing on the record player at a low volume, skull on desk, seagulls dropping blue mussels on the empty beach parking lot, unopened letters, heavy eyelids, barnacle shells, bleak oblivion, creaking floorboards, anatomical sketches collecting dust, distant breaking waves, unreciprocated love, tight chest, fidgeting, messy illegible notes, smell of old books, staring into nothingness….

“To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream/ Ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come” (Hamlet, 3.1)

goodbye