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Sexta-feira. Voce tem - 29 anos. Tem que - empacotar. Esquecer o pessimo corte de cabelo. Fazer de conta que esta tudo bem. Se acostumar com a ideia de que o vazio e assim mesmo, tem esse cheiro, tem esse aspecto. Mas esta tudo bem. Sting. I hate to say it, it was probably me.

Tem que desligar o fogo. Arrumar a casa. Olhar para a frente pois talvez as coisas melhorem. Melhor ver o copo meio cheio. Ninguem nunca pensou que tambem poderia estar completamente cheio?

Melhor ter forca. Melhor nao lembrar.

Melhor tomar mais um banho, tomar um cha. Ou quem sabe.

Repetir a cancao que ouvias quando estavas empacotando la em Porto Alegre e tua mae da escada te dizia que sabia. Que sabia. And you hug yourself - it is not enough. It is never enough.

E tu sorriste, sorriso cumplice. Mas mae eu tinha. Ou pelo menos eu pensava que sim. Vi tuas cartas hoje. Teu filho nao esta. Nem a alegria.

As visitas ja foram.

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