I wanted to be a writer, that's all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it's all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed. No matter what you start with it ends up being so much less. Sheer fucking pride and stupidity.

Oh we wanted everything, don't we?

[Richard Brown - The Hours]

sexta-feira, 13 de março de 2009

Quero um amor pra chamar de meu.

Um sentimento tão comum que chega a ser clichê.
Uma verdade tão cruel que chega a ser triste.
Um desejo tão intenso que chega a machucar.