tenho a dormir na minha cama o homem mais bonito do mundo. sei bem que não conheço o mundo todo, nem os homens todos que o fazem, mas sei que posso dizer alto que " tenho a dormir na minha cama o homem mais bonito do mundo". estava lá ainda agora, com ele enrolado, de cara pousada entre o meu ombro e pescoço, na curva do braço que se estende, mas queria dizer a quem posso que "tenho a dormir na minha cama o homem mais bonito do mundo". pensei ir num instante alugar um avião e escrever no céu, para que todos pudessem saber, mas não me quero ir embora daqui agora. vim só aqui dizer o que agradeço todos os dias da minha vida por existir só, por existir comigo, em mim. dentro de mim.
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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beijinhos! ser-se feliz é ser-se piroso, deixa lá! hihihi
sua pirosa!