a sua pele marcada na tua

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- não consigo mais ver-te aí, coberto do perfume dela. encharcado desse odor ácido e demasiado feminino para ser suportado. já não me interessa quantas vezes tomaste banho, ou há quanto tempo não roças esse teus olhar ordinário nas curvas das suas ancas. nem tão pouco desejo saber que roupa usaste na sua casa ou nos teus longos jantares de trabalho, não quero saber se puseste a roupa a lavar. 
- tu disseste que ficavas comigo, que me aceitavas de voltar porque amor é amor.
- e eu quis aceitar-te. quis que ficasses comigo mesmo que isso exigisse fazer das minha tripas, coração para te perdoar. e eu perdoei, acredita-me. no entanto eu não consigo viver na mesma casa que vocês os dois, e ver todos os dias, ao acordar, o rosto dela marcado no teu, o perfume dela marcado na almofada da minha própria cama. não consigo mais ficar a ver-te vestir e soar tudo falso pela madrugada, como se, em formato masculino, todas as manhãs vestisses parte dela em parte de ti. mas eu amo-te acredita que sim. e perdoei-te porque queria amar-te mais ainda. mas eu não consigo amar-vos aos dois.

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