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Lau,

Vou directa ao assunto: gostava de te conhecer. Pergunto-me se encontraste o teu sítio, a tua voz. Assumo-te com vida porque prefiro escrever-te assim. O oposto significaria a impossibilidade de nos encontrarmos no espaço-tempo para o qual me projecto ao escrever esta carta. O oposto significaria a percepção do nosso desaparecimento: dois pássaros num voo perfeitamente sincronizado para a morte. Ultimamente, mais do que nunca, ela é omnipresente. Chegou a nossa vez de vestir a bata e encontrar mecanismos para lidar com o irremediável. O nosso corpo, como tantos outros, está carregado de História. Viver não é imparcial e ninguém passa pela vida sem marcas. A maior parte do tempo, existimos com a mesma fragilidade com que um insecto atravessa a estrada, devagar, com uma dose de fé e outra de ignorância. O ritmo lento aumenta a exposição ao perigo mas também permite apreciar o caminho e desviar obstáculos. É porque somos pequenos que o tempo é grande. Ainda assim, o tamanho das coisas é relativo e subjectivo. O que nos engrandece? Quanto cabe em nós?

Who is the one in front? Can she see me? What happens if she does? Can she possibly be (in) my future? At what distance is future? Will I ever change? Why should I wish another version of me in the future? What’s wrong with the present? In the future, will I walk carefully like if every ground was sacred? Why don’t these petals seem to grow old or die? Am I like them? Is my mind like this blur glass? Is my presence changing anything in this room? What does my past want from me? I feel it’s presence in my back. Can I reach the future? Do I love my past, my present and my future? Do they even exist? How far away are them? How far away is my love? I’m suspicious about my future, what happens if I don’t look? Should I warn my past about my future? Will it make any difference? My future is like this white wall. I see a good future, but what about the path? Should I keep going, should I change? What’s the way to meet my future? Is it in sharp straight lines or in nice round curves? You in the mirror. You are welcome. I remember. Now I’m in a room without time references where the only things that exist are the marks of my presence. I feel presences passing and whispering. We connect through sounds. What is this sound? Does it hit or embrace? It makes me go on. What do they have to do with my future? What do these trees and clouds and birds and walls and lights have to do with my future? Who do I choose to be? What is important? What is life? What is death? What does me being here have to do with life and death? What does anything have to do with life and death? Is there any mystery? Are there any encounters while I’m here? Is there hope? How much pain should I still expect? How much joy? Do I really want to know my future? What is the time for invisible things? Past, present or future?