SOLIDOR

17 cachoeiras em SP com belas piscinas naturais - Mochileiros.com

Solidor is loneliness born of a pain of not having more. Appeared as if by charm, at the end of a dream, at the beginning of a rainy night or even at the time of death. It is the permanent or transient fault leaving marks and maracas in each soft heart beat. It is the red of blood running through the torn veins, in a continuous flow and ebb, through the tired body.
Solidor is the fruit of passion, despair, revenge and hatred. It is the result of love. An unfinished poem due to lack of space on paper. A song sung softly, in the beloved’s right ear. It’s a lament, a sigh or a name blown softly to get lost in the wind.
It is lonely to miss being in the hometown. Or when a piece of life is lost in someone’s death. When, from somewhere far in time, suddenly, the delicious smell of homemade food resurfaces, made by the mother’s hands that we no longer have.
Solidor is poached chocolate on a wood stove. Round coconut candy covered in sugar. Sock ball rolling in the dust. Tidal river flood. Gabiroba do mato. Sword mango with turpentine in the shell. Red guava. It’s sadness.
Solidor is a rag doll, torn, left in a corner of a room. It’s lap heat. Caress of hand lightly touching hair. Country path, full of bush. Hot sloth from after lunch. Childhood toy. It’s playing pike. It’s balance. It’s a blind snake. Jackets wedding. Popcorn. Balloon lit in the sky. Full moon. Street carnival. Elementary school bench. It’s a girl’s braid. It is Church in the square. Sip refreshment. Sugar cane juice taken on the spot. It’s a paper boat coming down the flood.
Solidor is an invented word that has never been in a dictionary. But that it exists alive within each one of us. It is the damned longing for something that bothers. But that we never want to lose, never, never …

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