Fada Literata

Todo dia acorda cedo; mora na biblioteca. Sabe onde fica a Cidade do Sol, a Terra do Nunca e o Morro dos Ventos Uivantes. Já visitou a Índia, a Inglaterra e a França; conhece A Sombra do Vento e as Brumas de Avalon.
De manhã se espreguiça e abre inteira feito um livro, sorri como capa de revista e se desdobra igual folheto. Enche a bolsa (pequena, de couro) de letrinhas recolhidas com cuidado das estantes adormecidas. Recolhe também pedaços de palavras ou papel que estejam esquecidos - os amores não ditos enrola em novelo. As lágrimas que encontra nas mesas e pregadas aos livros guarda num frasco de cristal puro, na seção "Astronomia", onde raramente alguém mexe.
Bolsa cheia e olhos vivos, parte voando pelas ruas, sobre as cabeças; derrama sonhos, desejos, inspirações, poesia, informação, letra, ritmo e melodia. A pessoa por quem ela passa raramente entende quem foi, mas resolve algo que a atormentava há dias, tem uma ótima idéia ou vontade de ler exercícios. 
Ela não se importa. Aprendeu com os livros a trabalhar silenciosa, jamais esperar os louros ou elogios de alguém. Quando a carga acaba, volta. Desvia dos estudantes, se esconde dos buscadores, senta-se às vezes ao ombro de alguém que lê entretido demais até para notar que ela está lá (estes são seus preferidos).
À noite, lê um ou dois livros e recolhe mais letras para o outro dia. Depois de vestir camisola, raspa as páginas dos livros infantis e retira o pó mágico da fantasia - ele sempre se renova, jamais faz falta - e o espalha sobre os sonhos das crianças daquela rua. Sonhem com cavaleiros, com princesas e dragões, com bonecas falantes e meninos de madeira. 
Sonhem, crianças - antes que o mundo transforme vocês em observadores de livros. Amem as histórias, antes que se esqueçam de conta-las a vocês. Amem a leitura, enquanto seus dedos correm nos livros por prazer.
Ela repete solenemente este texto todas as noites. E sorri enquanto se aconchega entre Júlio Verne e Jane Austen, e escolhe por travesseiro crônicas de Paula Pimenta. 
Então passeia na balsa do sono.

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