Devolver ao remetente

Vieste à noitinha já passava da uma da manhã. Querias aflorar a conversa que tinhas recusado nessa mesma tarde.
Completamente ébrio, subias as escadas trôpego, arrastando-te pelos cantos. Metias dó. Mas eu, sem grandes conversas, tracei a prova dos nove, passei a mensagem que queria e mandei-te de volta, de regresso às origens. Para a rua.


I am not like you
My words are said, yours left unspoken
I dare to share what I feel,
You would rather conceal
And live according to the image once created
Of a creepy hollow of a tower erected amidst the pieces of a broken hearted man.

I pitied you, as you lit up that cigarette opening the windows of your mind.
I saw a lost soul. In distress.
But I will not be your guide in the darkness.
Because I am not like you. And you do not belong here.