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Washington D.C.
Acabou que estava só. E fui a National Gallery of Art. Só. Era um dia de sol, frio, uma brisa com cheiro de umidade. Tomei um banho no hotel luxuoso, desci, calçando meus sapatos de bico fino e salto agulha, e me pus a sonhar. Fui de trem até o Washington Square e caminhei. Tomei café da manhã como se tivesse todo o tempo do mundo. Caminhei de volta, desejando que as ruas fossem estreitas para que eu pudesse me sentir um pouco menos pequena. Meu iPod sem bateria, minhas mãos frias, um livro debaixo do braço. Tua ausência. Já sabida. Na noite anterior, nossas solidões apressadas. Tu tirando fotos que seriam álibi. Para que continuar mentindo, se seguraste com tuas mãos meus olhos, e beijaste meu corpo. Como se. E seguraste minhas espranças como se fossem as tuas próprias.

Eu lutei por ti. E.
Imagem: Thomas Cole, The Voyage of Life: Manhood, 1842. Daqui.

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