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Complicado separar fantasia da realidade. Uma milonga rompe em um grito azul e profundo. Eu pensei que sabia o que procurava. Repete para mim como era sentir tudo aquilo. Repete para mim, em alto e bom som, como foi, desfaz as malas se for preciso, estuda os contornos da casa, meu semblante, minhas linhas. Mas diz alguma coisa. Algum dia o teu mutismo vai te abocanhar.
Em frente ao computador, ouvindo um tango, espero. O silêncio é tão agudo que desponta em mim um gemido angustiante. Não estou triste, nem só, mas ainda dói. A brincadeira de ser gente grande cansa.
Um final de domingo pa' bailar.
Pode que o que nos reste seja apenas isso, um belo entardecer, um vinho doce bem gelado, e uma fome de amar insaciável.
E agora a noite é calma e pesa como os horrores da guerra e da fome. E das coisas que nem que eu me soltasse no mundo, defendendo direitos e me proclamando dona de algumas verdades, conseguiria mudar. E assim me calo e me ponho a pensar apenas no meu umbigo gordo e diferente.

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