a vida é rabiscar os dias

So, here I am. In the middle of the night of a completely strange new country watching, for the first time since I came here, a new TV series. You know, I feel a lot like her. Or maybe (and I hope), I felt - just like this, in simple finished past. I used to wake up in the middle of the night with your face touching mine. Remembering your big contagious laughter coming out from your mouth and eating me alive. I used to think, first thing in the morning, that I dreamt about you. The corner of my eye would give my bed a little bit of water every day. I'd say, while time was passing, it wasn't a river of crying - but was that small tear that made my bed feel just as flooded as my heart. People would tell me repetdly that the problem was going into your facebook profile. I believed them, and I thought that maybe, along with that, I had to stop talking a lot about you. I started supressing all those dreams. Nobody would know I had dreamed about you once again. And again. And ev...

a essa altura, a verborragia não mais me domina não consigo falar desse corte de cordão umbilical dessa tristeza, delícia, furor angelical porque a distância aproxima e a saudade só cá está pela vontade de viver e viver também é desertar - e um pouco deixar de ter. que o bom filho à casa torna! e boa que sou, eu volto mas volto e não fico - quero sair e voltar com a memória de andar por aí a fazer história e saio, e ando, e volto porque eu sou o que você criou e da ruptura sou também vontade e vida próprias, saudade e -mais que tudo- liberdade reprimida, mas admirada e concedida, com essa abertura não de portas, mas janelas e sou seu orgulho, com todas as mazelas porque sou eu, sou seu parto e por isso parto - natural e sem dor e do parto ao partir: lágrima nos olhos, nós duas cumplicidade e amor.