When the dance saloon lit fire

One day the waltzing end
Of the street lit fire
And she knew as if she could
And ran. 

Besides, it was not only fire 
It was memories and love
It was sweat and dance 
Consumed in flames. 

She stood by ashes
And cracking messes 
And lovely curtains burned 

It was so random
A day in June
The smell of ruins

Wind flew by her party shoes
Her sleeping gown
With blue laces, all alone

She turned her back
And tears were wet
On her cheek, but still weak
To feed the starving flames.


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Maria

Seus olhos verdes que sempre me convenciam a fazer o que você queria ainda brilham no sol. Por mais estranho que eu tenha achado antes, agora gosto do seu cabelo. Às vezes eu lembro de uns momentos avulsos, biscoitos com suco e apostilas (que não estudamos), guaraná Jesus e bolo de chocolate. Lembro também do suco Do Bem, das músicas que você punha pra eu ouvir (admito que gostei de várias) e dos pedacinhos de letras que você dizia e sempre se aplicavam tão bem à situação. Odeio perceber o quanto você influenciou meu gosto musical, eu que me orgulhava de ser tão independente. Odeio saber que eu comecei a discussão. Odeio não saber o que aconteceu com o seu ex e se você está bem. Eu normalmente gosto de usar palavras pra resolver tudo, e quase nunca acho difícil falar das coisas. Das coisas da escola, talvez, ou de história, mas de como tá tudo errado sem seu abraço de bom dia eu simplesmente não consigo. Não dá pra voltar no tempo e mudar o que já foi. O que a gente planta, colhe...
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