por Cristina Bresser
Postado em 02 de Julho de 2017 às 17:42
The morning makes us cry forever. Forget the child night cough, the urgency of love, the verb in the prayer of the Our Father. The morning sees me thin as my past. I saw myself reflected in the window. My hair smelled old roses almost with no petals. Who is this old lady staring at me? I do not recognize myself in that old fat body. I would kiss her but it would be just out of pity. I took off the pyjamas and dragged my feet outside. My back is so wasted that I can only see the sky by looking at the pools on the sidewalk. Life is such a mystery: by the side of the maternity, there is a cemetery.
Consultoria em Carreira e Desenvolvimento Humano.