It is autumn again in Rio, and he says it is the best time to be in this city. And this is the season when everything reminds me of him, when I avoid certain places, cause my heart sinks in my chest, drowning in saudade, like a Portuguese sailor trying to cross the Cape of Tempests.
I remember the smell of his skin on his neck as we hugged, how it felt good, warm, cozy and sexy altogether. His shirts so pristine, and his hair always so well groomed he even looked way too serious.
Love is love when it makes us vulnerable. I´ve been broken by passion a few times, yet I´ve never felt so vulnerable as when I fell in love with him. I felt more compassionate, I had room for softness and even something that I describe as happy and quiet submissiveness inside of me. Passion fades. Love lingers as saudade and as a ghost limb.
Autumn itches this ghost limb, and it hurts, God have mercy on me, cause it hurts.