Gotas

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Admito que chorei. E que neste dias que esquentaram muitas coisas me fazem chorar. E meu choro é só uma água parada no canto dos olhos. Um nó na garganta. Um sensação de tristeza miúda. Um sentimento que me aplaca.

Gosto de descrever como está a casa. Sou parte deste sol de abril, desta luz que parece uma dor de cabeça intensa com a qual eu já me acostumei.

Tudo está bem. Há poeira sobre os móveis. As revistas, não lidas, empilhadas no mesmo lugar desde que te foste. Te espero de banho tomado. Com as mãos prontas. E a música e uma gota de Givenchy.

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