An old man walks along a beach with his hands crossed behind his back. He has all the time in the world, so he slowly strolls along the shoreline. He feels the sand between his toes and the burn of the salty ocean water when it strokes his legs. Behind him is the world, which with every step faints into miniscule specks of colour. He walks further and further, expecting the specks to disappear, but there they remain.

A girl sits on the beach. Her feet buried in the sand. She waits for the tide to rise and the waves to rescue her from the heat. She watches the old man as he walks away. He often threatens to peek back or so she expects him to, but in fact he never does. She knows he never will, but still she waits and hopes. As his figure becomes a silhouette, and his silhouette a shadow, and the shadow a memory, the girl remains still, the tide low and the old man gone.

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Chega da mania do inglês…

Quem nunca teve chance de dizer adeus vive com a despedida engasgada na garganta. Sonha com um encontro que jamais será. Se emociona pensando em lembranças que nunca teve.

Quem não pode dizer adeus, fantasia remorso como injustiça e passa a vida a procura de quem roubou sua despedida. Só para se deparar com a triste realidade que o roubado não existe mais.

Guardo no bolso daquele velho casaco de lã, palavras que deixaram de representar o abraço que não pude dar e hoje espelham aquela risada chiada que eu jamais vou esquecer. Essa palavras só pertencem a vocês, àqueles que partiram…sem dizer adeus, sem dizer ciao, sem dizer goodbye.