Mute
textos de uma escritora
Carta aberta sobre o luto O luto é uma dor que quase ninguém consegue explicar… porque ele não aparece só quando lembramos de quem partiu. Ele aparece nas pequenas coisas. Aparece quando algo bom acontece e a primeira vontade é contar para aquela pessoa… mas ela não está mais aqui. Aparece quando você entra em casa e percebe que o silêncio ficou maior do que antes. O luto também mora nas datas. Nos aniversários. Nos domingos. Nas músicas que de repente machucam. Mas o que quase ninguém fala é q...
Follow
11
0
0
kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai kwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwaikwai