The black tear, no drips, runs rough for the crude face of a sweet girl. It displays a smile that lights up a hammer carved a gray day in a village of colorful matchboxes. Where people live through their fears and are hostages of their existence, of the shadows and the remains of the brave new world.
And there she is, passerby, to the great and incessant flirting bus, admiring their habits, and their time trying to understand their bare hardware … She sees them, loves them, and inexplicably, or, on the other hand, very clearly and sensibly, she falls in love. The wisdom in this case is a matter of perspective, and this peculiar episode, only hers interests me.
She says to them, wait, is disappointed, love them, is revolting, but always loves them. From an early age learned to see their mills, to notice their brands and marches, and revel in the hoarse notes of his snoring. The cycle time, all this is a safe haven for our little girl, a ghetto girl who clings to what she knows, what she knows and deluded to want, or even assume control. I speak about picturesque love for the things that surround us. How can anyone love a picture frame? How can anyone love a bus? But she did. Put my hands on, look at me in the eyes, and with a silly smile states “They’re mine. I just love them. I want to take them apart and reassemble them again, I want to caress each gear and uncover the secrets of their mechanical souls”.
So, I think with myself, would be love to understand? Would be love deconstruct? There’s a lot since I feel that, it’s a shame. Sometimes I see him, up ahead around the corner, or feel him looking over my shoulder, pointing something, and whispering me confess the beauty of the afternoon sun after the rains of March. Love sneaky hides behind the smile of unknown passing by girls, and under the eyelids of other girls that I see out there. There is no desire, there is only delight the taste of catharsis that plagues me, it cools my stomach and makes me think “That smile, those eyes!”
Speaking about beautiful eyes and smiles, it takes me back to our girl, it reminds me about when her eyes sparkle, when she talks about her loves. I like to hear, I like to feel it, and maybe even for a moment, take a look at that feeling that’s creeping around.
Speaking about beautiful eyes and smiles, it takes me back to our girl, it reminds me about when her eyes sparkle, when she talks about her loves. I like to hear, I like to feel it, and maybe even for a moment, take a look at that feeling that’s creeping around.
By Z. Lopes