"Você é eternamente responsável por aquilo que cativas."
(Saint-Exúpery)
Primeiro de julho de dois mil e cinco, em um supermercado.
No safety net, no parachute.
No place beyond death.
No forgiveness.
No caring, no tenderness.
No love, no money, no thrill anymore.
No respect, no warmth.
No thank-you-note.
No dear-true-friend-I-wrote-you-a-letter kind of cherish.
No goodbye hug.
Free fall only.
Vanity only.
Death only.
Yes, no parachute.
Yes, there's no safety net.
Maybe I'm not ready yet.
The darker days of me and him.
Skyscrapers rise between us, keeping me from finding you.
Skyscrapers rise between us, keeping me from finding you.
[1/7/2005 — Selfishness from me to you, selfishness from you to me, but I'll be celebrating still. Celebrate your unbearable effort of unsuportiveness. Celebrate you selective amnesia.]
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