sonhei com muita coisa, mas raramente me lembro com o que sonho. e agora, enquanto os dedos tocam em letras que aparecem à minha frente, é de noite e o dia não começou. já não estou no tempo do sonho nem de dormir, mas ainda não chegou a altura de me mexer,sair para o mundo e deixar acontecer um dia. o que me apetecia mesmo era chegar à varanda, com lisboa em silêncio, e ouvir o som da madrugada. o barulho quieto do mundo a abrir os olhos, espreguiçar-se e voltar-se para o lado, mais para dentro do lençois. só mais "cinco minutos".
dear Sophia, it's really late. I've just arrived home after a dinner at my grandma's house. she's still so special. everyone ate a lot, we talked about old friends, ourselves when we were growing up. there are always stories about africa. we are all so linked there, so many miles away and yet. we talked about you, alexis and darril. and also about the bulldogs that my uncle used to have and were pretty awfull and scary. I was really afraid of them, but one day I grabbed a horn and chased them trough the garden until they were crying with the noise. never bothered me again. we also mentioned cape town and pretoria, your house, your family, I remember you so dearly it's hard to say. you were my friend and were a bit like me. you thaught me english and had the patiente enough to hear me reading, laughing out loud in a bed full of animals and pillows that we throwed until they reached the ceiling, you knew the piano but hated it. you knew everybody and everything so wel
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