Gallery walls of heart...
#paintings #poetry #missinghomes #paintonwall @ São Cristóvão
I suddenly realized here while seeying some huge beautiful paintings used in decorations, that I miss having painting and drawing material. Aaaaff, realized even worse feeling of not knowing where I left my paintings hahahaha don't know if they are here or in my sister's house, but they must be inside the luggage.
And I was like "mmmm next time I have a house of mine, I'll paint two huge canvas, one to be over my bed, one for the living room. Aaaaah...
I miss my houses... all of them... each one of them that I had through life, and lost... some of them I built practically alone, well, the ones I built were alone hehehehe. Each sofa bought, each picture chosen for one specifically wall, each toilet that I loved to put paintings inside... miss all of them. Miss loving a place, even when they were empty of anything that wasn't me and my will of survive... miss leaving them without looking behind and not wanting to see those pictures ever again... but not one.
This one, wasn't mine, but was my home. Didn't buy the sofa, didn't decorate the wall, but was more mine than any other. Was the only one I left without choosing to leave... it broke my heart to sell that cheap blender hehehehe but I was never to keep things that other people can make better use.
Blankets that someone gave to me for gratitude for my help, or the ones I bought on my first day in that foreign city... but they were mine, even if they warmed up a lot of others.
You know? Any wall can be yours when you love where you are.
Either with paintings over sofas or not.
Funny what a propaganda page of paintings on walls can make you access, isn't? And then you remember, and then you cry.
One line of tears for each abandoned paintings or pictures, cds, movies, books (had many shelves of them, in different homes and lives), stupid decoration captive things, all sort of things that one chose with love, when taking home.
Funny how as less attached to material things you are, more attached emotionally to somethings you get. Even if you don't blink to give them away or whatever.
For many, many, maaany years I didn't live where I couldn't. Or I loved or I left.
Moved from houses 9 times in 4 years before egypt, cause if I couldn't love I had to leave, or they had this or that problem, and was a forever building process. Just to when was perfect, leave it, and destroy.
In one day found another last one and built it perfect, with the walls and sofas and grandma things, bringing even a family to it. Couldn't be comfortable in it and after 2 or more months of suffering things I chose to leave again and past 6 more months arranging the leaving.
Then, was the last time I said, "did it definitely, gave it away everything, got just personal paintings and clothes. Next time, someday, will be fine again, will rebuilt it again!"...
when arrived there couldn't live either on that home, so, said to myself that was it temporary and made myself home for the people around. No paintings on the walls, but the ashtrays were mine, gifts, the bedsheets on that old sofa in nasr city hhhhh the young souls to save were the favorite furniture.
I remember that when I chose the first flat in rehab I liked the pictures on the wall hhhhhh, silent, no need to build nothing, just make it warm and love it...
Everybody was leaving and I stayed, finally was a home where the walls didn't have to be abandoned cause nothing was mine so if to leave was just walk the door.
Funny also to realize that what makes the home isn't nothing you buy, but the amount of life and love you live in those walls.
One year before I met you I wanted to move to an empty place and buy somethings, said to myself I would never have patience to do that again and prefer furnished, really do, but needed to choose again, needed to move,
one like me or travels or move.
Not ever really stopping, unless love the walls or the arms that are home.
... here there's no love for the walls... there are no painting made by me or chosen by me. No kitchen where I cooked for friends I love. No arms that would make the rooms feel like home no matter which house is. No blender to use or break as mine, as all the others I had. No pencil that could be any, that could exist here to help fixing the miss, draw my imaginary loved walls, or whatever.
Isn't about the things you might have had, done, or got or left. Isn't about a house that is yours or not, with the things to call yours. Isn't about the blankets, the teas, sofas, not even about the paintings.
Is about love, and about where you want or don't want to be!!
One day, I will chose again the wall, and it will be mine or not, but I'll call her like it and decorate her in my mind with the loving arms of the ones I have, and with a painting of my hands or hearts choice.
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