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A few hours alone suffering no torture other than the darkness, the silence, and the absolute cold; a few hours of that and I was already half broken
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I am not a great writer.
I’ll never write for magazines or publish my own book.
I’ll never take your breath away with the words I type,
And I’ll always wish I wrote things differently.
But words are all I have to give you.
I’ve seen the power they can have, though.
I’ve seen them bring comfort, and joy, and tears.
And I hope mine will bring you something.
I hope that someday, I will write something that hits
You right in that place you can’t put your finger on.
And it will make you feel something entirely new.
And I hope that it makes you feel beautiful.
I saw a photographer before photography was invented. I saw Rembrandt. I saw his brush strokes shaping me. I saw the beginning of a new era. I saw Baroque, I saw Impressionism, I saw Realism. I saw Europe. I saw the world. I saw Brazil. I saw a museum flourish. I saw the dream of a man become the biggest museum in Latin America. But, after seeing all that, there’s one thing I haven’t seen yet: you. Come. I wish to see you.
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some things are so beautiful
like pieces of art, like photographs that literally rob you of your breath, like pages and pages of writing and poetry and biographies that takes hold of your attention and leaves you awestruck, like songs that contain lyrics so relatable and perfectly apt and beautifully twisted to fit the humming tune, like sculptures expertly molded by swift hands that know too much like sketches shaded by people who know too well.
sometimes i feel so inadequate and awful out of the constant fear that i’ll never e able to create something as magnificent