I have dropped my sword, love. I fell down on my knees for I was so tired and my hands were trembling weak. Now I can't get up. I am not strong enough. I know I'm not a boy anymore. I am a man, now. But I have dropped my sword, love, and I can't pick it up again.
One day, I walked back home and you weren't there. There was ice inside a glass on the top of a wooden table. I just stood there while it melted. Then, I drank it all up and left again. In the dark of those cold nights, I fought monsters and men. I painted my sword red with their blood and with my tears. But now, love, I have dropped my sword and I don't know the right way home. I am lost.
Am I still a prince, without my sword, love? Can I be a boy again? Or is it too late?
Pedro Simão Mendes