Não sei ser pouco ou rasa ou pequena ou fraca
Não sei ser distante ou fugidia, minguante ou vazia
Tampouco amena ou seca
E embora me tomem reta e certa e pronta
Sou chuva errada, forte e tórrida
O desvario em uma lógica
O mundo em uma gota
Esta confusão toda.
Para pensar, deixar fermentar e pensar de novo.
“You fall in love with a man because he is everything your father isn’t. He is strong and tough and you like that. He sweeps you off your feet. You don’t even realize how much he takes over your life, how you start to became merely an extension of him, rather than a separate entity or as you dream, one grander entity, two becoming one in love, like out of a romance novel. You acquiesce on small things, then large things, then everything. Your laugh starts to quiet before disappearing altogether. Your smile dims until it is only a facsimile of joy, something you apply like mascara.”
Harlan Coben – The Myron Bolitar Collection