Havia um ódio dentro de mim. O sol enrugava-me a pele, a claridade espremia-me os olhos. Já não há ninguém lá fora, nem alguém em casa. Ouço a batida das horas e a gritaria dos pássaros. O tempo pende do peito e a saúde pune o corpo. Arrasto-me no que resta. E ainda respiro.
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