Eles dois



E o que antes era um, agora era dois, era três, era quatro,  e eram eles mesmo as somas e as multiplicações.
Enquanto o tempo passava, descobriam, um no outro, um estilo todo próprio, um olhar, mais um sorriso.
E no ir de cada dia, um talento, uma mania, se tornava raridade: Gerador de vários risos, intermináveis abraços e beijinhos inocentes.
Era então tecida uma colcha de retalhos, sendo sempre acrescentado um novo humor, uma expressão, um prato favorito. Entre eles se formava uma ligação tão forte, com a vida tem com a morte, como a grama tem com o chão.
Eram eternos opostos, e apaixonadamente simétricos; eram e passavam a ser, mais e mais a cada momento, uma existência meia; imperfeitos na solidão, completos no reencontro.
Não que não vivessem um sem o outro, viviam, claro; e creio que até pareciam mais inteiros do que antes. Emanavam a alegria constante e espontânea gerada pela certeza; certeza de ter alguém à espera, certeza da unicidade de seus próprios sentimentos com os do outro, com os do mundo; pois tudo é amor, para o apaixonado.
Se conheciam tanto que a opinião se fez imprescindível, e rapidamente tornou-se ela a fonte das perguntas e dos palpites para presente de aniversário, para cores de roupa, para atitudes dos amigos. Mais do que saberem, se consultavam; e mantinham entre si os conhecimentos um do outro.
E nas horas vagas em que o pensamento vagava, o destino certeiro era ele; era o sorriso, uma palavra, era um abraço,  ou qualquer coisa.
Se encontravam nas mais inesperadas circunstâncias, num cantar de pássaro, numa música, numa pedrinha da rua, num letreiro brilhante. E uma coisa qualquer já era suficiente, para lembrar e suspirar de saudade.
Por fim se amavam, era inegável. E era claro, e era fácil, e era plausível e real; e se faria acreditar pelo mais cético dos mortais. 

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