O Lado B do A

I came to the hills where poets came to die, not of wound nor illness, but of truth,  to lay their sorrow down  in the hush between stone and sky. Here, the earth remembers  what the heart is made to forget. So I have come too,  with your name like ash in my mouth. The wind in your voice,  the warmth of a false dawn—  I mistook it all for love. You wore your kindness well,  but it fit too perfectly,  like a borrowed coat. I never saw the seams. It opened its hand,  and there were your lies,  lined up like smooth stones  pulled from a black river. And I— I was the last to know I was drowning. Not from the world,  but from the cathedral of my mind. Your place is sealed,  a crypt beneath the heather. The poets here  died for beauty, or for truth. You? You simply faded,  like fog from a mirror. No carved name. Only silence, and the clean forgetting. You do not sleep in my memory— you are exiled from it...

There is a storm in my soul. You saw it once—marvelled at it, maybe even feared it. But you never understood it. You tried to tame it, contain it in promises too fragile for my thunder. Now that storm is mine again. No longer stirring for you. It dances to my own rhythm now, one you can’t follow. It crackles with the fire of everything I reclaimed. I am the electric silence before the lightning. The pulse before the quake. Majestic, yes—but no longer yours to witness. This storm doesn’t break me. It makes me.

I paused. The kind of pause where everything inside you screams, but the outside stays still.  Silent. Numb.  I sat in that silence, heavy and hollow.  I’m empty. I feel sick—like something inside me rotted and leaked into my skin.  I feel dirty in a way that no amount of scrubbing will fix. And my friends—they look at me like I’m broken. They’re right. But none of this started with me. This started with you.  Your emptiness. Your sickness. Your dirt. You handed it to me, gift-wrapped in charm and fake promises. All this fucking time, it was your damage, damaging me. My vulnerability versus your game. You lied. You used me to save something you had. You told me you didn’t deserve my heart, and God, you were telling the truth for once. I should’ve listened. But love makes you deaf. And I kept loving you. I over-gave myself to you, and maybe that’s my curse. But yours? Yours is never being able to forgive yourself for what you did. You're everything I never want t...