The Dark I doubt who age, premessenger! I find reasons to believe that everything is a vertigo of my nerves, so settled in the sounds of this proper night of that they want to float above of the human roofs. Streets that already had been. Gravels buried on asphalt. Saudosas dawns of my land, gone and comings, in the constant to go up and to go down of mounts. It wanted not to feel night falling in my tempering soul of doubts. They believe, I am lost in my presences! A thousand needles sharpen my sensitivity petrified for the daily logic of the motor reasons. It is the climax! As a carousel of colors and sounds, they burglarize me the retinas, they force me the spandrels, in the dark silence of this rainy night of an obliging monday. The epilogue of this frenesi static finishes in one morning lost in a small square, where divided a white church. I am behind the parochial house. I see gram, I see flowers. Way in Portuguese floor. The sun is warm. It is not more than nine hours. I do not have more than nine years. It confirms my shade, reflected in the rocks that populate the ways between the yellow and green seedbeds, sprinkled of great trees of yesterday, that I print a full smile of pleasure. For everything what I age and everything it encircled what me. Now I see, what it did not see. When tumbling fronte on the pillow of the agony, I remember the tuesday, that soon more arrives. In orvalhar of the dawn, awaken. Eye for the white wall of my dark room. I perceive myself as I am. I feel homesicknesses of me and all those colorful faces that felt. The child that already is one day inhabits...

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