dois trechos

Thursdays

It is Thursday. I am sad. I spilled coffee on the carpet, first thing in the morning. I put soap on a sponge and did my best. But it would not go. Then, when I tried to stand up, I knocked my head against the door. I felt like crying. I do not know what I would cry about. I do not know why it is Thursday and it has to be like this. I just woke up and outside was grey. I just felt like having some coffee. I could not have it. The powder was finished. My eyes were decorated with tears. I could not cry. It hurt. It was another Thursday. Another Thursday morning, and I hated it.



Deconstruct

I want to be honest with you. I have kept this very secret because I assumed there would not be understanding and I would have to use your words as if they were mine to make it clear. I read a book called Alexis, and you know how much I hate titles that are names because I am always struggling to find simplicity. And then it gets dark and late, and I give up. I bought that bottle of wine, we drank, and everything got light and foolish. I mumbled, you said ‘what?’; I gave up because it was dark. And I am no fool. I wrote a piece about John and me. I called it John. I thought you could read it. It was not a simple decision. But then again, nothing really was.