quarta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2013

Dead Poets society

Três anos inteiros depois. Há uma vida atrás.
But I still remember the pain. Não pensei que fosse possivel, mas se calhar há dores que, porque foram tão fortes, vão sempre doer quando nos lembramos delas.
How could he? How could I?

And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.
— Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year

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