quinta-feira, dezembro 10, 2009
She'll always be my foster mum, my adopted family, my spare heart. She took all the fears in me and threw them to the wind, making me watch as they flew away, in the multitude of absent eyes strolling by, in Piccadilly, in Oxford Street.
She taught me all the steps, from Leicester Sq. to Chinatown, the alleyways with hidden fish tanks and colourful fishes in them; she secretly whispered the quickest ways from the north to the south bank, the ones with less tourists. As if I ever was her child, she took me to the very top of St Paul Cathedral and made me climb the stairway to her heaven and look down on all the gardens, filled with green green grass and lambs.
She told me to wake up early, before she did, and speak to the snow fairies, that every once upon a time painted the city white and silenced all the Twelve Bells; never had I ever had such a silent conversation, filled with images, the smell of the cold and the taste of the mist.
She took my cosmopolitan virginity and left me in Soho, my head still spinning, just to then push me to the tangles of the District line; I'll always remember the way it smelled, like rust, salt and grease. She covered my eyes with her hands and lead me to Camden, where she left me scared and hesitant; And when earthquakes shook my foundations, I'll always remember how she lent me a sidewalk to sit upon and cry, covering my tears from the crowds with her breath.
She will always be my borrowed mother, providing sisters and brothers for me. And she’ll have me always, not the child, but the woman I once thought I could be.
She taught me all the steps, from Leicester Sq. to Chinatown, the alleyways with hidden fish tanks and colourful fishes in them; she secretly whispered the quickest ways from the north to the south bank, the ones with less tourists. As if I ever was her child, she took me to the very top of St Paul Cathedral and made me climb the stairway to her heaven and look down on all the gardens, filled with green green grass and lambs.
She told me to wake up early, before she did, and speak to the snow fairies, that every once upon a time painted the city white and silenced all the Twelve Bells; never had I ever had such a silent conversation, filled with images, the smell of the cold and the taste of the mist.
She took my cosmopolitan virginity and left me in Soho, my head still spinning, just to then push me to the tangles of the District line; I'll always remember the way it smelled, like rust, salt and grease. She covered my eyes with her hands and lead me to Camden, where she left me scared and hesitant; And when earthquakes shook my foundations, I'll always remember how she lent me a sidewalk to sit upon and cry, covering my tears from the crowds with her breath.
She will always be my borrowed mother, providing sisters and brothers for me. And she’ll have me always, not the child, but the woman I once thought I could be.
Criado por Isménia @ 10:35 da tarde 
