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He was thinking:
What a hell?! This stalker loser girl grabbed on my ass. Asking everything and annoying me with all this crap! Boring nerd! Why she still pissing me off! Where is the fucking cxmas?
She was thinking:
I know he thinks i’m boring… Why should mama made me too smart? Laughts. No, no, i’m not that one. Fuck them all! I like the way he makes me think about things i do not see anymore, but i do not mind be the stupid for smart…
She was thinking:
Is too soon… And when, when it ends? Where we should be? I’m afraid of. Am i a lier? Or just a girl at all…
He was thinking:
Things finally start rolling and rocking between us through the holy beloved and dreamed paths of bright future above all.
He was thinking:
What a hell! She’s gone. We did not had a sec alone. Well, she knows me and was awesome. Should i wait for her? Maybe some flowers… No, flowers are faggy! I wish she was here.
She was thinking:
What should i be thinking? He told me clear that i must swim with the sharks. Find someone else? Pffff. Such a poser. I was dreaming to surprise him, at least he seemed a little little happy.
Sentou no sofá, jogou na sua cara que havia feito o que ele não fez, com aquela cara de quem sempre conserta tudo e os olhos molhados que levam todos ao céu e ao inferno. Ele resmungou o primeiro comentário sarcástico que lhe veio, como sempre fora, como sempre seria… Esculhambações primeiro, elogios, agradecimentos e rosas depois.
Foi para o quarto com seus sorrisos, o deixara no sofá com seus pesares. Quando ele procurou não estava mais lá. Por quê? Por que teria ela feito uma coisa tão vulgar? Sim, ela deletara. Ok, ele sabia porque, uma pena.
Perguntou, na sequencia, se havia deletado por completo… Recebeu um mísero sim. Parabenizou a e ela agradeceu… Quis saber se era o fim e ela disse: – “Pode ser apenas um nunca mais lera minhas cartas de amor.”
Uma romântica, a safada, gostava era de frios na barriga, de tapas na cara, de enjôos e vertigens. Enquanto ele achava que era um bad boy, o rei dos maus tratos, cheio de panca, ela vinha, disfarçada de romance, pisar lhe com saltos altos e puxar lhe os últimos cabelos.
She was thinking:
He is so far from me, here, just far away. Oh! my god! I love him so much! Why can not he snuggles me?
He was thinkig:
She is so near from my hand, body, me, my place… That near! What a fuck?! Why she do not go away and dissapear?
He was thinking:
She is drunk! Having fun without me? Spending time around with this girl i do not like… Beers? Tequila? Dancing? And what about those sexy clothes? They have called us. True. But if they did not?! Where these girls would be going? Pfff. I do not like her hair, anyway… Who cares if she is the little darling on the dance floor? Wow, i really like her legs and smile. Well better get drunk…
She was thinking:
What is happening? What i did? Why he does not like me mom? Such an orc! What in this world makes he think that can treath me like that? I’m such a loser. Can’t even think that i spent time choosing this dress to astonish him… Bastard. Dancing with me now? Well it worth at least.
Era o nariz. Que desde pequeno lhe pesava na cara. Que custou as vergonhas da infância, trouxe verdades na adolescência, gerou medos na sua migração, mas agora, na vida quase adulta, refletia ela.
Ele jamais entenderia, sequer poderia admirá-lo, contudo era capaz de exprimir uma ínfima gratidão sobre essa parte de si que sempre o indignara. Porque ela, ah! Ela. E ela gostava era do nariz.
Nariz adunco, grande, pontudo e pendurado. Sempre chamou mais atenção do que o sorriso mesmo.
