há lugares (des)conhecidos que no fazem tremer à entrada. são as palavras ditas que encaixam na perfeição no espaço, que não sabíamos que existia, reservado para elas. um espaço guardado para guardar. é o tempo de cada palavra, o que se quer dizer do primeiro ao último som ouvido, a boca a acabar em lábios a dizer que falam e a falar, a ressoar em volta. é tudo isto que assusta e faz pensar "já aqui estive". ainda por cima estamos no mês de Maio.
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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