In a given sunday...

"This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything that stands, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

I'll never look into your eyes...again

Can you picture what will be

So limitless and free

Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand

In a...desperate land ?"

[...]

- The Doors

Over and over

"Insanity is to do the same thing over and over, expecting differents results".

 Every day he looks at sky. Every night he sees the stars. All that briliant dots flying. And then he looks to Earth, to the mankind, and all night, since sunset until sun rises again, he observe. The new day arrives, people starts to wake up. The life goes on. He gets down and grab a little of sand. The sand flows between his fingers, slowlly, grain by grain. The same wind refreshing his face takes away the sand from his hand. For the entire day he watches a man bilding a sand castle. With patience and care, the man moist the sand. Then the castle begins to take shape. Looking at the man you would notice his wrinkled hands moulding and creating. The sweat drips over his eyes and he can't clean it. His hands has sand. He felt thirsty, but the water is full of salt. He just suports it and keep working. Now the sunset is coming again. He is almost finished. He takes a few steps back to get a better look of his works. When he is walking the tide gets high and destroys everything. He turns arround and see the sunset, simille and get home. The sand has finished, the wind stops, and the man who watches everything looks at sky. Every night he sees the stars. All that briliant dots flying. And then he looks to Earth, to the mankind, and all night, since sunset until sun rises again, he observe...

[...]

Sonhos incontáveis, pensamentos insondáveis;
Nas nuances de uma mente que vibra;
tomam formas, ganham cores, cheiros e sabores;
Se é possível  viver de sonhos, não sei.
Mas, é impossível viver sem eles.

Uma janela num sábado

Ele olhou para cima e observou a janela. Era uma tarde de sábado e o dia estava quente. O gelo derretia e escorria pela garrafa. Alguém estendeu o abridor. O som do gás saindo, o som que a tampinha faz quando atinge o chão, o som de satisfação quando o primeiro gole desce pela garganta. Ahhhh! O calor é contrastado pelo frio da bebida. A tarde mórbida de um sábado quente começa a se tornar divertida. Os amigos vão chegando e se sentam, um deles trás consigo um violão. A roda canta, bebe e se diverte. O celular toca. Ele se levanta e conforme se afasta da roda, o efeito do sábado quente recomeça. Então, duzentos metros à frente ele passa diante da janela e escuta um chamado amistoso. A urgência da ligação impede que ele pare. Faz um aceno, uma desculpa, e, segue, apressado, pelo calor do sábado.