Fernando Pessoa died before he got to know the impact his work had on us. On me.
Obscure and overlooked, perhaps, his work stands out to me; it resonates and soars within my chest. It will forever run in my blood; a memory of sensation that, even if one day forgotten, will spark and tingle under my skin and in my fingertips when I meet the words again.
I wish he could have known the impact his words would have for generations to come.
I wish I could have met him.
We could have taken a walk, promenading in Lisbon, stayed quiet in each other’s company or talked about everything between heaven and earth — and beyond — and deep, deep within. From the very chambers of our hearts and minds.
I would have liked to have known this quiet man who wandered the streets of Lisbon and carried the universe within.
I would have walked alongside him and helped him carry it.