✉️ São Paulo, August 18th, 2025
On the eve of taking a night bus towards the sea, I think of you both.
I collect your presence in the sea with the waves and the fragments of shells, because I know that in every grain of sand there is a flake of soul, the mist of a body, a love story or the trace of a shipwreck.
I pick up a large shell as soon as I arrive at the shoreline that touches the ancient cobblestones, and I speak into its hollow the union of your names: felicianoleonilson. Immediately, a gap opens in the echo that unravels into the memory of a weave, a thread, a pin, and a voile. And then a vertigo comes.
When I was a child, we had a little house where my grandmother had a Singer sewing machine, along with a complete wardrobe of my mother’s old clothes from the eighties: taffeta, fancy things, yet modest, handmade by the women in my little town, her mother, her aunt, her sister-in-law, clothes for the dances, for the country fairs, for the kisses with the young boys. And all the emotions were stitched to fabric, repeated through the mantra of sewing, like a lament, like a prayer.
And all the emotions contained in the waters as well: this lament, this river that covers us.
Back at this sea, I think of the centuries old shipwrecks that these waves have adorned; I also wonder if you were ever in these same waters.
Leonilson, have you ever been to Paraty? Feliciano hasn’t, but he knows Mar del Plata.
The fabrics are the waters. The waters are the fabrics.
One of life’s greatest emotions is walking above the Iguaçu Falls and its veil (one third Argentine, one third Brazilian, and one third Paraguayan). This is the knot of our lives, the water-spirit, the saltwaters, the memory-waters, the recent-waters. If I had known I would be speaking to you through them, I would have lived on a boat or on a bridge that crossed our Tietê river. I would have woken up and slept with you. I would have reached you in 1991 as a ferryman, and asked to hear your story.
Today, I live far away from my waters.
Today, I am by the Thames, far from our Iguaçu, but all I have in my body is the memory of sand and a water soaked T-shirt.
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@pedropedreira_ 🙌🏽