quinta-feira, 21 de maio de 2015

about sort drame

there is this girl tucked in the middle of book shelfs, at the great library. she gathered a pile of hardcovers in front of her, but she's only paying attention to one, in her lap, the others are a fort she built to keep herself safe from the world, a bigger fort than the shelves itself.

two things you can't help but notice about her... the eyes, wide, big and glittery, like an overexcited child, and her hands, all marked in colors. the eyes didn't run in the family, neither did being a leftie, but those two things said so much about this girl that they might as well find in her life codification.

the eyes were the open gate to her curiosity, one of the forces that centered her whole being. but this curiosity of hers came from a funny place in her head, the part of herself that craved for an answer deeper than the boring, dull, sad life she saw around her. with those eyes she saw dreams, dragons, crossed lovers, unspoken magic and many impossible things being born and killed all around. with those eyes she imagined, she created, and above all, she colored everything.

the hands were hands of an anxious girl. she couldn't work in the same speed as the time, so she made things happen in the spares. she would write stories, loose words, draw faces, eyes, creatures, people and lovely scary stuff... but she was, indeed, a leftie, and while she worked her hands would cover all the things she had already gone through, and all those experiences would leave her marked with colors. bright colors, dark colors, mixed colors, colors...

you shouldn't try to sneak around, though, for she wouldn't know how to appreciate sudden company. she climbed to the moon and saw stars so up close that human kind just was not the same anymore. she too, was a bit less human. we all became scary, giant and threatening for someone who was only used to characters and fairy tales. 

but sometimes she looks away from that book. sometimes she winds around for a couple of eyes that might remind her of something she loves. in this moment she holds tight, like gravity was a string between them, and she hopes for her magic and impossible things. she hopes they all collide. 

so far they didn't and she wonders why. maybe it was the books. maybe the eyes, maybe the moon and maybe the lies... but she never stopped to wonder why she needed all that. 

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