Eu, ele, o mundo

Perdida na madrugada escrevo coisas sem sentido. É mais fácil agora, que o mundo cala e me permite ser eu mesma sem interrupções. Há quanto tempo não experimento a sensação de estar sem regras, um vislumbre de intensidade nesta época tão perigosamente planejada.
Respiro livre por alguns segundos apenas, a admiro a capacidade de vagar pelo mundo que determina minha coerência interna.
Por um momento me questiono, me passo a limpo, defino os rumos da minha existência a partir daqui - o que vem agora? E daqui pra frente? O que quero, e como faço?
A mente voa por causa dele. Ele, ser estranho às minhas concepções, absurdo, original, oposto a mim e tão semelhante. Ser que foge ao que eu sabia, e que ainda assim conheço tão bem.
Ele, avulso objeto nas minhas divagações, modo novo do meu modus operandi. Ele aquele, a quem me refiro e por quem me calo, ou digo coisas que jamais diria a outros alguéns que conhecesse por um acaso qualquer semelhante ao primeiro em que nos encontramos.
Ele, imutável incerteza nos meus pensamentos e tão complexo, tão completo que quase nem sei por onde começar, ou se começo de fato visto que representa para mim o início do fim.
Ele você, que não lê isso mas quem sabe um dia. Ele com quem discuto, que me mantém acordada até a madrugada, como hoje, escrevendo, pensando, sentindo e estranhando-me.

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