Words (more words)

"She´s back. It was one week ago, when we were descending on a wicker basket from Monte to Funchal, with the taste of disgrace in our mouth, that I noticed that Maria João had come back. To herself, to me and to the world she was living in. Even on the days she was sicker, she would visit me whenever she could. Now she had come back to stay.

On a terrifying turn, a well-planted photographer took a photo of us: the best we´ve ever had; a happy couple. In the risky run, in the acceptance of danger and in the laughs of fear and pleasure, someone had turned her back to cancer and death and had reappeared on my side, in front of me and in my heart, the same as on the day I fell in love with her, exactly as I remembered her and as she – even at the worst moments – never let me forget. In October she stopped being sick. More: she started psychoanalysis with Frederico Pereira, with the intention, dear to her since she was a child, to be a psychoanalyst too.

She has come back. And I´ve come back with her, not as the worried lover anymore who took care of her but being once again the passionate lover that knows nothing but love her.

Love is always here. Wherever we are, it doesn´t run away and it´s not taken by surprise. But it is she who has come back, and I – and the ungovernable freedom to love and be loved, without changing a bit how we are or how we behave.

Maria João is back. She brought me back with her. And we go wherever we want. Like before. Like from now on. She´s back."

Miguel Esteves Cardoso warmed our hearts and brought tears to our eyes. For what it is. For what it was. For what it might be, again.