Maybe he will come back

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“Photo by Jakayla Toney on Unsplash”

In this life, everything is maybe
The only certainty is death
That maybe it is the luck
From those who got to be already happy
Maybe it will rain
Maybe not
Maybe he will come back
But the love that didn’t work
Can be liberation
Maybe I’ll regret doing this or that
Or having done nothing.

Maybe with a good north, I’ll get there
And realize that my luck was here
Maybe the phone rings
And someone gives good news
Maybe I’ll know some poet
Who may teach me
To make rare and rich troves
Maybe I’ll understand
That the certainty would be fatal
And that the maybe can be great
Maybe I’ll learn the power of silence
Facing life that is the most serious mystery
And rich in whys
Maybe. Maybe.

Are tears in Heaven also salty?

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“Photo by Edward Howell on Unsplash”

Twenty years ago I started writing. I started late, luckily not too late. When we left Pedralva, I was still a twelve-year-old girl, and I cried all the tears in the world. I could not understand how it was possible to have so much salty water inside my eyes. After a year during which I always went back there, against the willing of my mother, I gave up visiting the place. There was something broken inside me that would never be properly repaired. There was an irremediable gap.

In 2002, my uncle Joffre died. I was flooded with fond memories…

Nothing is insignificant in life, everything can be an act of love, even a wing of a butterfly

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“Photo by Andreas Haslinger on Unsplash”

One of these days I went up to my terrace and found a butterfly flailing in the window, inside. She was trying to break free to win the sky. I approached it carefully and admired that fragile little creature. It was small, colorful as butterflies are, but it was not a magnificent specimen of the class. Very carefully I opened the glass and tried to push it out. Nothing. One of the wings was tangled in something. I was afraid to pull that little wing. I could hurt her and the wing could be torn. …

That was my mother

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“Photo by Good Free Photos on Unsplash”

We were still small kids when a cousin of ours, having already started High School, didn’t want to continue her studies. In those old days, parents didn’t care about children’s studies. I mean, children should study until they finish High School. After that, young boys would look for a job, and the young girls would stay at home learning housework until they got a good marriage. That was the culture of the time in the small place we lived. Of course, later, fortunately, this way of living changed.

Well, back to my cousin’s story. She was sad and told my…

Men started to think they were gods and had the divine semen

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“Courtesy of the Author”

After many beers, he comes with his stories. And as he still had an appointment for that day, I told him: Dear, go to sleep. You know I take a long time to eat. And he: No way! Nowadays, women have a different status. They are in charge! And I: Me not. Go to sleep. And he: So I go because now you ordered me!

And, as always, he tells me things that make me laugh. …

And the burden we carry will be lighter

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“Courtesy of the Author”

For the love we love
For forgiveness, we don’t deny
And all the tears we have to cry
In our greatest tribulation
The world will be more beautiful
And our hearts will be tender
And the burden we carry will be lighter.

Before the sun goes down
Before it’s too late
Contemplate the burning horizon
And lay your anger on the ground
So your burden will be light
Whatever the travel
At any day or any time
It may be in a distant future
Or it may be right now.

Life shouldn’t make sense, but it does

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“Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash”

A few days ago I went to a funeral. I observed with respect, the person who had left. His soul had already taken flight like a swift bird and his voice was forever silenced. The body was just still and the person was all wrapped in an enormous silence.

It is not good to always think about death, but it is good to ask God to teach us to count our days. It is not good to be constantly remembering death, on the other hand, it is not good that we forget about it. …

A special person

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“Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash”

The nurse and her students went up the hill and soon clapped their hands and entered each house, each life, each story. They taught home recipes, they even taught how to plant. More than teaching about food and care, the nurse and the students got to know people and their lives.

But the most beautiful thing in the world was the last house, up there, very close to heaven. It was Mr. Isaias’ house. He was a poor man who now moaned softly in his bed, eaten by cancer that consumed his esophagus. Mr. Isaias had no life ahead, he…

I call, I cry, I scream

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“Photo by Kiwihug on Unsplash”

Engulfed by immense fear
In the middle of a tense dream
I think:
It’s a dream
I reflect and relax
It’s a dream, I think
In the dream everything is possible
Everything I can
In the dream I walk, I talk
I fly, I go, I am
I call, I cry, I scream
I run, I die
But it’s just a dream.

A sore on the soul

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“Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash”

Everyone brings a pain
Anyone, anyone
Something that hurts
Whatever it is
A child’s memory
A hard word
A love that ends
A thorn in the flesh
A sore on the soul

And so we keep going
Pretending we forget
To cheat pain
That doesn’t want to leave
It stays and delays
Sometimes it cools
Pretends it’s going
Then it gets worse
Pain that is pain
Never disappears.

Misa Ferreira de Rezende

I write because the world enchants me, death frightens me and life amazes me. I am a writer. “About me” stories

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