Na minha república

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O brilho labial tem gosto de limão mentolado. O chocolate sobre a mesa esconde pedacinhos de café. O café cheira bem mesmo de muito longe ou talvez por isso cheire tão bem. A distância, já dizia Marcelo Gleiser, mascara tudo.

A água do lago, ríspida e cinza, se move como que dizendo adeus. Feminino e masculino em colisão. Sinto o embate.

Quando lhe disse que esse foi meu melhor dia dos namorados não acreditou e sorriu tímida. Ela deve imaginar que os meus 12 de Junhos ou 14 de Fevereiros foram todos cheios de romance.

O 12 de junho de ontem foi nostálgico, mas também foi um dia melhor que muitos outros que já vivi. Na varanda escutamos, os três, aos clássicos românticos e bregas dos anos 60, 70 e 80. Cantamos, rimos, suspiramos de amor platônico por homens que são, no mínimo, 30 anos mais velhos. E nos deliciamos com as letras pobres, mas que têm charme.

Terminei de assistir ao sem sal A República do Amor. Veio a calhar para mim. Mil motivos. Mil circunstâncias. Existirá mesmo isso de ser viciado em amor? Mais perguntas.

Depois, sorvete, banho, música e uma cama que para mim parece ser uma pluma gigante. Muitas horas de sono, acompanhada (de dois travesseiros e mais música). Me proporciono uma felicidade possível, muito embora ainda queira uma felicidade sonhada.
Imagem: Paris, Je T'Aime.

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