Me lembro de ficar confusa. Como pode no meio do verão, com este sol, cair uma chuva dessas? Eu demorei pra entender, demorei pra procurar um lugar pra pra me abrigar. A segunda vez também foi…
I could turn water into wine and string into 79,
what a sublime set of skills to possess.
I would kill to confess that this power is a fraud,
that any alchemy is a fallacy abroad,
far from the praise of domestic applause,
an implausible reality with no cause for pause.
But I would add a clause,
a subtext in fine print stating that my statements were colored with a tint.
A hue of hubris,
‘cause in actuality I do believe in magic.
I’ve seen it with my vision.
But it doesn’t take the form we traditionally envision.
It comes as a byproduct of tragedy,
the ability to overcome adversity,
but the adverse effects aren’t advertised equally.
Markets only care about the markups and marketing,
a bizarre behavior for a bazaar,
I think?
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