Let’s get old baby… And I’m holding your hand. When it’s pain, when there’s love… I won’t let go.

I thought our story would make a book, my dear… And the reason why my beliefs come together in the past is the purest concern for the would-be readers of our story. Because it will be long. And it can only be told in a feature film with many edits and cuts of details that I never want to forget. That’s why I’m going to slice this cake full of cherries, into small fragmented portions, impregnated with an intense and striking flavor that we know so well how to give.

I wonder if someone will read this one day, expecting a plot so sweet that it will put diabetics at risk. They must have no idea of ​​the sour and bitter tastes we experience on the way to placing such a high value on the sweet and turning the details into cherries.

Let’s grow old, honey… together. I can say this because I love you. And you love me. It wasn’t with a sound car that you told me that and it wasn’t writing 2000 times in a notebook that I showed you. It was in every minute of pain and love that we became more certain. And when our old age arrives, there are things I don’t want to be lost in our worn-out memory. So, who knows, maybe we’ll sit together and read the memories I’ll always dedicate myself to?

Let’s remember when we seemed unreachable to each other. When I saw in you an amazing human being that showed me a whole world and you saw in me some kind of special being that wouldn’t have eyes for you. And remember that we peeked inside each other, we entered this underworld of theories and discussions about life and its complexities and it was the opposite of each other that brought us together. The outside was just… the icing on the cake… A bonus that, of course, made everything easier and more enjoyable.

Let’s remember the enchantment we produced on each other by using words so masterfully, fitting each syllable in its proper place, making us think that we were the luckiest people in the world. We valued the expressions, the way the other blinked or moved his lips to smile or say “I love you”. We write down every detail in memory.

Let’s forget the bitter details, without ever forgetting that they existed and served to strengthen love. But there were. And they hurt too much, because they made it seem like the end, made us fear the end and sometimes made us imagine life from then on, on separate roads. Separated? So life separated us for so long, to present us with the meeting and then part? We poured clean water into the jug with dirty water until all of it overflowed and became clean again. We didn’t allow our jar to soak for too long…

We will remember how easy it was, at last, to love each other. The same dreams, the same plans, sometimes not always the same, but all adaptable to each other, different fears that came together to strengthen the feeling we have. The same desires that always spoke so well and were an inexhaustible source of energy we always had.

Let’s remember the nights we sat in silence, eventually interrupted by a gesture of affection, and maybe the memory brings me the clear sensation of your hand inside my blouse as I wrote, making my heart race and thoughts dissipate through distraction it caused me. There will be many memories of how many things we had to start over because we stopped halfway interrupted by this permanent need to love.

And there were so many fights. So many banal discussions that could and should have been avoided and not even considered. There were so many open pains and wounds, but never so deep that they didn’t heal. And there were so many reconciliations. And they were always so affectionately intense that we won’t know why we fight so much… But the reconciliations will be memorable.

Let’s get old, baby… together. I will hold your hand when the love is immense the same way I will when the pain is intense. And on the day we sit down to read our story trying to rescue our memories, I will kiss your mouth with the same love I feel today, maybe with less vigor, the years will impose limitations on us, but love will always be immutable.

We’re growing old together, baby… Dying together every day a little bit more. And I’m holding his hand. I won’t let go. When it’s love, when there’s pain… I won’t let go. Never. Oh! Let’s grow old together, honey… Let’s go.

Luciana Marques