Maria Nicanor

misfit toy

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22 janeiro 2014

A noite já estava alta e dava aso aos pensamentos que não nos assombram durante o dia. Perguntei-me se haveria um dia em que eu não pensasse na avó, perguntei-me se deveria esperar por um tempo em que ela seria somente uma memória distante, lembrada apenas no aniversário da sua morte, ou talvez algumas semanas depois, lembrando-me apenas depois de ter esquecido. Eu sabia que conheceria mais pessoas mortas. Os corpos vão-se empilhando. Haveria um espaço na memória para todos eles, ou esqueceria um bocadinho dela todos os dias, até ao fim da minha vida?
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21 janeiro 2014

She started wondering around with a cigarette in her mouth. She hated the scent of it, but smoking had an odd taste of serenity in the gale.
She could think of a thousand reasons why she didn't believe him. But it was not about the reasons. It was about love, undying love. She had tried to put her feels under her bed, but when the night came they were high lighted by the stars, deepen by insomnia. She devised a hearth on the fireside in the back of her mind and she pictured throwing all them in without hesitation, but ashes blew towards herself like a phoenix reborn.
He was not merely a short time summer love that engaged in summertime sadness. He was the man that were once a boy and she was the girl who knew the boy in him. He was her home and she was his. They had bought seeds and planted them in the garden and the primroses had grew, lived, died and lived again, and again. They had a bed of grass with a soft green pillow and the moonbeam ray. It covered their knees and tickled their hearts tenderly.
'They were something perfected with time', she thought. 
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03 janeiro 2014

She remembered back almost a year to her moonlight walk to meet him.
'Until someday' he'd said to her gently. The word had seemed like a precious gift at the time, a keepsake or an inheritance. She'd tucked it away and treasured it accordingly waiting for the right time to cash it in. Waiting and waiting. That was her thing when it came to him. The word gave her an excuse to wait and do little else. The word wasn't so much a gift as a terminal virus with a long period of latency.
In her heart she thought he had meant it. But of course he hadn't. She remembered other parts of that long ago conversation word for word. He'd asked her if she loved somebody else and she'd said "I don't know if I can" and in return he'd said "I know I can't". She had been pretending she'd more or less forgotten the whole episode, but she hadn't.
I know I can't. She'd held on to that declaration as if it was a signed affidavit. And yet, it was total bullshit. She thought about the girl.. Oh yes, you can.
People said things they didn't mean all the time. Everybody else in the world seemed able to factor it in. But she didn't. Why did she believe the things other people said? Why did she cling to them so literally? Why did she think she knew people when she clearly didn't? Why did she imagined that the world didn't change when it did? Maybe because she didn't change. She believed what people said and she stayed the same.
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