“For somebody who claims to be able to read dead bodies, you sure seem off sometimes when it comes to living, breathing people.”
He was right. Her mistake had come from making assumptions about him. “I wonder how much of a person is simply fabricated by others,” she said. “And think about this: None of us see the same person in the exact same way. We bring ourselves into the equation.
So an individual is never really an individual.”
“This might be a little too deep for a hangover. Are you saying we’re not only a product of our environment; we’re also informed by accurate and inaccurate observations by others? That makes my head hurt even more.”
When they were young, Maria tolerated for a while the amorous cooing of which he was so fond. Despite the surface brutality of his profession, he is soft of heart. When he met her the first time—it was in the cafeteria of the university—she was the most alluring creature he’d ever seen, a serious girl with a beauty that lit him up. At the sight of her, song filled his ears and the world glowed with colour. His heart thumped with gratitude. But quickly she rolled her eyes and told him to stop twittering. It became clear to him that his mission was to listen to her and respond appropriately and not to annoy her with oral frivolity. She was the rich earth and the sun and the rain; he was merely the farmer who got the crop going. He was an essential but bit player. Which was fine with him. He loved her then and he loves her now. She is everything to him. She is still the rich earth and the sun and the rain and he is still happy to be the farmer who gets the crop going. Yann Martel The high mountains of Portugal
És a minha única fonte de devoção, meu amor.
Às vezes gostaria de estar contigo sem que mais ninguém houvesse neste mundo.
Às vezes penso que assim é e deixo-me embalar por esta fantasia até adormecer contigo a meu lado. Contar as vezes que respiras e respirar contigo. Mais ninguém neste mundo e adormeço sem preocupações. Conto as vezes que respiras e faço por respirar ao mesmo tempo que tu até serenar. Dormes serena. A tua respiração acompanha. Se o fizer como tu fazes penso que é assim a melhor maneira de chegar onde estás no teu sono sereno. Penso que é assim ser sereno, esquecer. E mais ninguém está nesse mundo. É lá que desejo estar também. Contigo e sem mais ninguém. Às vezes assim é. Até esquecer tudo e mais alguém.
Dorme bem, meu bem.