No matter the ways we choose,
the ones we did not choose will be more numerous.
There will always be more personalities
than the ones we decide to wear.

I live as a boat that departs without announcing a destination,
choosing along the way which port to anchor on,
always regretful for the ports I did not choose.

I take with me a small piece of everything I have known
(and how could I not?)
so my memories cannot betray me,
so the places I have been can leave a footprint on me.

I follow this path blindly,
heavier at each step
(or with weaker muscles, I could not tell),
with burdens getting loaded and loaded,
with fears from other roads,
missing passions from other ports,
with nostalgia of passing landscapes.

I keep on walking to keep on living,
I keep on choosing some paths, abandoning many others,
Sad with every time I detach something,
Sadder even for the choices I did not make
(but did even if I did not want to),
I keep on sensing smells I never experienced,
touching flowers I have never seen.

I do not renounce what I leave behind
(Like Drummond: "from everything a little remained"),
but the directions I did not pick,
the river courses that never came to be,
the dry branches never to flourish,
the futures made impossible by my choices.

As I wash my hands on rough waters
I leave some of what I was,
some of what I think I am.
I let me go just a little
to keep on going.

All this ballast, this will to take everything with me
can do me no good at all
if my weight restrains the places I could be.