quarta-feira, outubro 01, 2008





Once upon a time in a beautifull moonlight night, inside an old oak wood country house painted yellow, a tear dropped heavily on the wood floor. It was not the only one, more were to come. She was wearing a soft red cardigan her mother had nited when she was about her age, it had a red silk string around it with little pon-pons in the end, sealed with cherry buttons. Long, shiny, curled on the end, hanzel hair, matching those big, brigth, expressive honey eyes. She was the dool her mother always wanted, and got. It was no Shakespeare novel theme what brought her to tears on that silent night, was nothing important in fact. "Happens everyday.", she thought to herself. "A broken heart? I´m suffering from a bronken heart?!", she couldnt believe it! "ME?! Not me! I dont buy that stuff, how could it?!"...But she did, she had fallen in love, the forbiden thing she difined for her. No good is to come from a pulsing red heart, it becomes egocentric, blind and def, it will pay not attention to nothing but the one who calls for it. She lived her dream, she believed that could be the one, there was nothing or anybody who could talk her off. She was right, until the voice across the fire lighted room talked, through the orange flaims and instant stars shining in the cold, now warm, fireplace. "I tought you meant to me more than you do, this is an ending, with no return.". There was no reason at all, it came from nothing, just like the love they once felt. But there was a catch, the past tence only was applied to him, because the girl with rosie chics still felt the blood boiling with love. There were no words, the "...no return." was, indeed, a no return, she had her pride, and like a wonded panther she would stay and lick her wounds, not talking, not moving, just letting her express the only thing she could not control, the amount of liquid feelings she was now poring through her blood rayed eyes.
He left, the door was closed, the yellow woody house felt the warmth go, slowly has the fire would crumble into ashes... her name, is Fenix.

5 comentários:

Thiago disse...

Gostei da historia, embora mt triste.
Ja se sabe k embora tente-mos ser de ferro e ter o coração fechado, este acaba por abrir quando ñ queremos.

Beijos princesa****

Kátia disse...

Seus escritos por vezes me fazem refletir.Esse não é diferente.
Porém,renovar,ressuscitar,recomeçar,renascer...sempre é tempo de assim o fazer.E se é esse o caso,o tempo é AGORA.
Beijo,cheiro,abraços e dengos na minha japonaise linda e querida.
:***

M.R. disse...

Um dia, quando formos velhinhas, vou abrir uma caixa - como a que me deste mas muito maior - cheia de lembranças do início de tudo. Acho nos vamos rir destas coisas que ainda nos são tão presentes mas já estão arquivadas num espaço em que já não nos afecta. Vou-me lembrar certamente de todas as palavras que me ofereceste, de todos os olhares cúmplices.

Renascer é bom, mas só se voltarmos as duas ao início de tudo, todos os dias.

"Let's do everything for the first time... forever."

Sorrio.

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