My Reflection

I'm at a loss for words. I'm happy to the extent in which happy is no longer the word to use. I can't tell you when I started loving you. Moreso, I don't think it ever did start. I feel like I've known you forever and I was just waiting for you to come into my life. You are but an extension of my being and with that I attain a sense of fullfilment I would not get by loving you only. Love is an euphemism, not applicable in our unique situation (don't try and explain this to anyone, no one will understand how strong this feeling we share is). And as I am at this loss for words I like to simply look at you and see a reflection of the most perfect of emotions. I shall forever be lost and in you I shall always find me. My soulmate, my reflection.

The echo of my words

Do not dare to read my words. There's only void in what I write. I am but a fearful soldier, a forsaken wanderer, falling into the darkest pit. And as I drown myself in sorrow, I lie. I lie in what I write so that the pain is lost in the echo of my words.

Tomás Roda

O eco das palavras

Não me leias nem me ouças. Não há sentir no que digo. Os meus olhos guardam os oceanos do coração que minha boca não alcança. Minto no que escrevo. Minto para que a verdade fuja, perdida no eco das palavras.

Tomás Roda

Perfection II

I wish upon a life without time. A never ending journey since it is never starting. A never ending day since the sun never rose. It's the pressure of existence that creates imperfection... And it all starts as the sun rises.

I wish I could write this without expectations. And that you could read this in the same manner. Perfection is mine and it's yours, don't share it. If I ever write it down, don't read it. If you ever live a perfect moment, don't claim it. Just let it be...

I only wish upon a timeless day. I would then make that day my life and we'd stare at the sun rise forever. In perpetual perfection.

Tomás Roda

A meaningful walk

Sometimes I wish upon a life without expectations. Knowing not where a path may lead, whilst embracing uncertainty as a precedent behaviour for an enjoyable walk. Enjoyable as it leads nowhere. Enjoyable as there's happiness in solely walking.

A life without expectations, without owning or wanting. Seeing beauty in appreciation and in simply being. The more I love life, the less I need it. The less I need it, the happier I get. Loving is living, and more importantly, living in independence. Knowing we are one and one only, all travelling across the same path ignorant to its final destination. Enjoy the walk, among friends and foes, equally appreciative of both without needing either of them. In the end our footprints are the same and as they disappear in front of the oblivious Universe, they were only meaningful to the joyful walker travelling nowhere.

Tomás Roda

In the light of Being

The mere idea of being is tiresome. Breathing per se is exhausting. Thinking breaks me down even further. I've never been fond of realisations, of knowing who I am or where I am going. Knowledge is an addiction and a painful one. Loving is a form of knowing. Becoming aware of how much we care and how much we can give to someone or something. It's the most selfish of all feelings. We love to be loved back. We love to feel happy. And so we build our existence attached to this idea of fragile joy, a naive certainty that it will never fade away. We live the day never expecting the sunset and when the sun does set we get lost in the dark forgetful that the most intense of the lights resides within us. The sun is no more than a wanderer among stars, let your inner light guide your own way.

Tomás Roda

Explicações

Não sei que de mim quero.

Na luz da vela que se apaga,

Silêncio que veloz se propaga

Sei que na escuridão não desespero.

Desconheço quem serei.

Dormir sem sonho a recordar,

Barco velejando sem saber o mar

Em ver demais eu me ceguei.

Nunca soube quem era.

No vermelho do Sol que escapa,

Agarro o manto negro que me tapa

E voo; sabendo que a vida não espera.

Tomás Roda

From above

When the world is seen from above, problems are mere wrinkles in the face of the Earth. Wrinkles like roads. Roads like veins. Veins that carry the blood of the wanderers, the despair of the lost. Closer to the sun in a place where raindrops are smaller than your own tears, there is nothing as beautiful as seeing the world from above. Enjoy it, with the certainty that you will soon fall back into reality.

Tomás Roda

No title

Knowing you don't know,
When you try to stop trying.
When you've gone but you didn't want to go.
When you cry and you keep on crying.

It's when you lose what was already lost
And you find what has never been found.
Pay the price, unaware of the cost,
Silence wishing you could make a sound.

When you repeat what you have repeated
And you do what can't be done.
Try and cheat with no chance of cheating
I can't say goodbye to what's already gone.

I can't.

Tomás Roda

Blank

There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper. A desire to write but no idea of what words to use or how to stitch them together. Focusing on the content and on making writing aesthetically pleasing to the hear, the author forgets the reason that brought this piece of paper to life. Be aware that whatever is put into words will not be as raw as it should be. Words, sentences, paragraphs... these vehicles of thought are just barriers to the full expression of an ill mind. While it should be the cure to sickness, writing becomes the origin of self-destructive human beings. It's a maze one can't get out of. There's always a better way of expression, all of them faulty representations of a bleeding soul. The writer will settle to swimming in a glass of water knowing there is a river. Lost in the maze.

Sometimes I wish there was no blank piece of paper. But it never happens. So while I am listening to the drops of water harmoniously flowing across the river, the nightmare begins again. Here I am, a bleeding soul, with just a pen to fight my demons. There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper with a bleeding soul and an empty mind.

Tomás Roda