Be My Angel

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Quero ir nadar, mas alguma coisa me prende dentro de casa. Talvez seja a música. Ou a luz fraca no canto da sala. Foi súbita a tristeza. O dia tinha sido todo murchidão. E se tu não sabes o que significa um dia ser murchidão eu posso te explicar. Dias murchidão são os dias em que nada de bom acontece. Nada significativamente ruim tampouco. É o dia que se arrasta. Em que a gente vê e sente o peso do tempo, o cansado do corpo, e a angústia, e o quanto tudo se parece. A gente nem se pergunta onde estão as coisas que nos fazem bem porque a esta altura tudo parece estar sendo sugado pela falta de vontade.

Me vejo nua. E o que os outros não sabem é que isso significa ver-me como realmente sou, só isso. O que eu quero é dizer: a merda é que eu me analiso o tempo todo. Todos os sentimentos. Até a felicidade pura de um belo dia de sol contigo era motivo de análise. Mais gente do que eu imagino passa pelo mesmo.

Talvez reconhecer-se no outro seja um exercício de humildade.

Um decisão errada e ploft. Desencadeia-se uma torrente. E a lágrima insistente desaba.

Temo as farsas. E seus protagonistas.

Espero que estejas feliz, no teu mundo estrelado. Tomara que tuas estrelas não sejam feitas de neon.

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