By Pedro Du Bois (Balneário
Camboriú, SC)
(Marina Du Bois, English version)
We talked for long hours
as if we were old friends
and our childhoods
needed to be revised
in dreams reached
by the frustrations of the paths
hate and anger at what went wrong
we laughed at old and repeated jokes
and the drink came to our heads
drunk between times
the remaining hours where of silences
scattered looks on the living room furniture
the constraint in the lack of subject
our pas conversations at the beginning
mismatches imposed by life
in work addiction and families
we were acquainted once
classmates
who meet again by chance
with forgotten memories
soon return to their worlds.
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