caprichos

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Depois de ter aberto a caixa, separou alguns retratos, antigos, amarelecidos, desbotados, amassados. Separou do limbo algumas memórias boas. Fechou a caixa, mas não voltou a lacrá-la. Se pôs a escutar Take Ten, bebeu mais um pouco de, trocou de roupa, sorriu, e voltou a caminhar.

Um pássaro imponente sobrevoa o lago cinza e opaco. O sol é tímido, o vento sopra. Escuto um saxofone ao longe como quando, do Instituto de Artes, eu trabalhava mais feliz por ouvir alguém tocando no andar de cima.

Imagina seu rosto e suas mãos e queria ver em seus olhos a expressão da música. A música manifestando-se naquela conexão mágica entre leitura, habilidade, sensibilidade e história.

O prédio era sombrio. As escadas de pedra fria me pareciam as mesmas que anos antes eu subia com pressa.

Toco a água. Arrepia-se meu corpo. Penso na oboísta que tem a minha idade. Sigo adiante ao som de A Time For Love.

Esperaste 3 anos para substituir a palavra ilusión por corazón. Eu estudo uma maneira de simplesmente entender os caprichos de ambas.

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