Stefanie Sande

Stéfanie Sande

É escritora e doutoranda em escrita criativa na PUCRS, autora dos romances “O último verso”e “Virgínia”.

TO THE BOY IN BLACK

You flew so high at an early age you spend your days performing on the other side you are way beyond my reach the wings I have are metaphorical in truth they are only these pages words can not fly but they travel so they say who knows

It’s pathetic I’m fully aware but reader if you can please pass this note to the boy in black he says it’s lonely at the top I’m still climbing and I know to get this high It has to be you flying alone

but let’s get to the point

my note

maybe It’s best if I draw a picture so here it goes

It’s almost two A.M. and I’m home alone I live in a winter city now but it’s not cold Vita sleeps behind my computer screen I can see her tail and her head on Mrs. Dalloway [another book I’m unashamed I didn’t read] rain was pouring yesterday but not today pretend it is cause we’re romantics on the inside there’s no one else here but the two of us

and by us I mean Vita and me she’s a little cat I found on the street I haven’t seen my family in months [not even on christmas new year’s or my birthday] I’m wearing a torn oversized t-shirt and my hair pulled back I wish I could say I look good but just like the rain we’ll have to pretend I also need writing gloves cause I’ve injured my hand writing too much I’m the cliché writer of my dreams except not rich not famous not poor I’m not dying of tuberculosis and I’m not twenty-one anymore though I did get that damn virus and so far haven’t died in this pandemic It’s kind of funny how the writing life can be so pathetic at the same time it’s the only thing that really matters anyway two notebooks are filled with poems and notes of the past few days I confess they also have an embarrassing record of my weight anyway I’m trying to organize my scattered letters I know we have different alphabets but not to worry this will translate this note is getting a bit long because I need something to forget just thirty minutes ago I was about to go batshit crazy mad I wanted to give up as if I could as if I haven’t tried luckly I didn’t drink wine I can not throw up on my arm yet another time so let me finish this long excuse of a letter hoping things will get better and knowing they won’t It’s a spiral it comes back and then goes on we get dizzy sometimes and that’s how it is and now a quote from a book just occured to me It says once you get into the desert there’s no going back endlessly wandering we are dreaming in the sand there really is no reason for loving is there? but we do so I won’t explain this note to anybody but you maktub

well, reader if you’re still here please do not forget if you can then please pass this note to the boy in black I think he writes just as much as I do I hope someday he reads this and feels not quite so alone just as I feel when I listen to his songs