Do nao escrever - Old Post

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O Mamoeiro de Tarsila do Amaral
O Moleskine sempre fica ao lado da cama acompanhado de uma caneta. Um copo de água junto aos livros que estou tentando ler. O sono me assalta repentinamente. E as palavras saltitam dentro de mim. Quando me roubam o sono, acendo a luz, e tento acompanhar a velocidade com que me assediam. Noite passada escrevi que o mar ao amanhecer é como um exílio: sua claridade ofusca, mas traz um novo dia.

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