The Lady Fado

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Madredeus: Vem
Hoje eu seria toda fado se te envolvesse em mim. Seria uma tristeza aguda e grave. Uma beleza não vista, não sentida. Um beleza toda rara e vaga, etérea. Seria um fado, saudade, um tormento por saber que um dia part-irias.
Seria angústia e a felicidade supressas num sopro apenas. E violenta e calma, te olharia com um pouco dessa mágoa de saber que (não vais ficar), e te morderia. Para que assim ao menos me levasses comigo por algumas horas, como levo eu minutos de fado. Minutos de certeza. E a vaga idéia de que vou viver para te amar. Triste e bela, num vestido vermelho, remendado pelo tempo, desfeito pela espera, enrugado pelas minhas confissões rotas e exasperadas. Cheias de um olhar que se amansou pelas ironias do tempo e as garlhadas ferozes de uma mágoa que arde como pele queimada. E pela história inventada. Pelas torres não alcançadas.
E talvez agora eu já esteja a escutar uma nova voz. Imagem: The Lady Anne, 1899. Edwin Austin Abbey.

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