Português
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To write a text capable of translating the mobile transience of language: misturar os corpos. Meditate on the weight of water as it sits on the lakeside in the farm.
There are green sections in the landscape. The translation of color into smoothness is something that feels gentle when walking on the grass.
She sits in between countries, capturing cultures, dealing with difference
The divide between her and other people is in the projected thoughts.
The relationship to the countryside: one or other personality in detached moments talk about themselves. She is an outsider. She doesn’t have a family, only relatives.
They ask her if she is lonely and she says, “what brings me back here is love, but what keeps me away from it is solitude, which words can’t account. Letters aggregate.”
Ela disse que ia misturar as linguagens.
In English, the gradual sensation of power brings the protection of the other language. Portuguese speaks about a place inside without frontiers.
She doesn’t believe she is capable of abstracting everything. Only what is in the surface. Within the lack of possibilities, lies a well that approaches being with a nearness to death. What if someone steals her right to exist?
Morte, como a linguagem, faz parte da vida.
Fallen leaves and lost words help her to accept other small consequences, in the smallness of her stillness. For that reason, she thinks about the illusion of capturing her existence in a text like this one.
It is a necessary act, e por isso escreve.
Short Fiction published in TreeHouse Arts.
