Maria Nicanor

misfit toy

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Follow Me

01 julho 2013

She remembered the time, years before when she'd drunk red wine, nearly two bottles of it. She was fourteen, and he followed her to the river because he'd felt worried about her. It was the day S. was still at the hospital in a coma. At first she avoided him, and then she told him to go away.
"I'm not bothering anyone", he had said, and sat down in the rocks, "Anyway, you don't rule the world".
Eventually, she'd come to sit next to him. He watched her, looking for tears but deep down he knew she was no cry baby. They sat there in silence and darkness with no moon at all for a long time. For hours it seemed to her. And when he got tired, he'd lain back on the sand and she'd put her head on  his stomach. He'd been startled by it but he hadn't pushed her away.
She was drunk, tired, sad and a little bit sick. He told her a couple of months ago that he still could imagine, even now, the heavy, warm feeling of her head lifting and falling with his breath. "You are the only good thing in the world" she'd said to him.
"I don't want to be the only good thing in the world", he'd answered at last, and she heard the words in the distance floating upward, between dreams and he must have suspected somehow that she was already asleep.
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