Calliope

   Calliope has changed.
   Not as young anymore, not as beautiful.
   Her altruist efforts gave her maturity and wisdom but,
   In exchange, put too heavy a weight on her shoulders.
   Permanent eye bags, a crooked spine,
   Skin so pale and unhealthy that now, truly,
   She has become a ghost.
   Not an ethereal damsel,
   Youthful and super Brasil, like the one I was so fond of just a few years ago;
   But more than that, an overly exaggerated amount that went so far a way, lost the means of its true nature. 

   I don’t think I can love her ever again.
   Not even shed a little light, like when she lured me before —
   But just for a little bit —
   When we were both too young and reckless to understand anything.
   She a little less than me.
   A time, I feel like, of much disturbance;
   Much love too, passionate love;
   Adultery — a simple modus of — in simple — childish — relationships.
   Red, white, a surprisingly shiny bronze orange: polished everyday.
   A Dead God to crunch a Fleur Morte;
   A Sun Goddess to take into her own heart, in the name of love, the stake. 

   Whatever happened to you, Calliope?
   Why do I still see a smile in that face of yours?
   Just let go of this stupid, ignorant happiness, for fuck’s sake...
   Stop justifying my sorrow.
   Yes, my sorrow. Mine alone.
   I’m the poet here, after all.
   Self-titled martyr of a cause never really clear to anyone,
   Self-cursed carrier of the weight of the world,
   Self-medicated altruist, giving my all to all of you. 

   You didn’t cry like I did.
   In the shower, in my bed, on my books,
   At the bus stop, at the empty café, walking street after street with no end in sight.
   You didn’t cry like I did.
   If I ever knew you cried like I did, I could never forgive myself.
   The root of my suffering would turn too real, too tangible, and that’s a pain I can’t handle.
   I cannot make out the image of you crying, of you suffering for a love we both felt and, both, equally, mishandled.
   Oh, god... I still love you so much. Can’t believe it!
   So funny sometimes I still find myself thinking about you.
   Hugging me, holding hands, sharing the special moment of a first kiss.
   Our love like this tiny little planet spotted far away through the telescope,
   That we never had the chance to explore, to even lay a finger on...
   I wonder if this analogy still correlates to anything inside your heart
   (Maybe if you search really deep within?)

   Miluje.
   Calliope.
   Clear confusion. Another issue, right after rehab, but I’m glad with how I took it all.
   Things are fine now, I believe. What, three, four years after?
   I saw your modeling pictures and the thorns pierced my heart a little deeper, but I’m fine, you know?
   It’s normal to feel hollow, sometimes too sensitive, when the sand that slipped through your fingers has melted into glass and now casts a beautiful rainbow around the whole world in refraction,
   Like the engagement ring I’ll probably never give you.
   If the pain is in both ends, maybe that’s why you never called.
   If the scar is healing so well, why open a new cut, right?
   Guess that’s the way to go about it, really. Just forget it all.
   Maybe sometimes nostalgia. Nostalgia is good.
   Nostalgia for the promises I made, convict of a better future, but that now just feel awkward. You would never accept.
   Nostalgia for when you told me you liked how my face smelled like sunscreen.
   Did you know I still only buy that brand?
   It’s because you said you liked it... and who knows if one day you’ll just show up out of nowhere, right? 

   But that’s just feelings, just thoughts.
   It’s not real life, right?
   You don’t exist anymore, do you?
   I know I don’t exist anymore.
   Maybe you’d like the new me.
   Maybe the old you would like the new me,
   Or at least laugh along, for my problems are just a bit too much.
   And yeah, that’s it.
   Calliope was never a thing, but you were.
   I tried to find you in someone else’s eyes, but all I found was someone else.
   You were by my side, pleading my attention,
   But when I finally realized my mistake, it was already too late, you were already too far.
   And now I hate myself.
   With every fiber of my being I hate myself.
   And to end this story right, if you’re reading this, know that I still love you way too much for my own sake. But I’m managing. Still breathing. Heart still beating, and will keep on beating for as long as destiny lets me. But that’s about it. Couldn’t find real happiness again, probably never will.