The Great Sons of Portugal

He knows his Gymnopédies from his Gnossiennes. He appeared like carnations in a sea of unrest. A blossom in my heart. I was barely breathing. It was too hot. I leaned back on the hot sand and closed my eyes. I could not read Pessoa anymore. I had been reading The Book of Disquiet for four hours straight. I had forgotten to drink water. I could go to look for water, but that would mean moving. I could afford a little more dehydration before I was convinced to move. No. It’s not like I dislike Pessoa. I love him. I could only love him for four hours today. That is like any great love of mine. It is fine and tolerable in the smallest of doses. I can barely handle my own intensity. We should not spoil four hours of intimacy by getting to know one another. Would you add four grams of salt to your supper? I think not. Enough about Pessoa. I went to the sea. I looked for answers. I looked for answers in the most complicated of non-human existences. The danger of the riptide thrilled me. Yes. It could take me. Baptism in the salty foam. The sea was a tonic. An instant coolant. I could live again. Another rebirth, then another. <a href="https://medium.com/scribe/the-great-sons-of-portugal-848839b83c04">Click Here</a>