Estrelas brilhantes, caídas do céu,
Pousam nos meus olhos, fazendo-me réu.
Escrava da azul neve, nas pálpebras o Mundo
Se quebra, pestanejando pedaços de segundo.

Pudera eu, Mãe Natureza, tua filha não ser,
Para em surreal rosa o meu toque te envolver
E, sem promiscuidade, me declarar amante
Desse teu orgulhoso cabelo de diamante!

Pudera eu, Mãe Natureza... Eu, assim, queria
Cheirar-te o rosto, maquilhado de alegria,
Morder-te o nariz, soprar-te ao pescoço,
Fazer-te sentir o meu próprio alvoroço.

Assim eu quisera, Mãe Natureza,
Amar-te a ti, pela tua singular beleza,
Envolver o teu perdão e esquecer a tua vingança
Pelos ventos dos quais sou responsável de mudança.

Assim eu pudera...

Ariana was sitting among the leaves that lay at her feet, alive and tired of the trips they did, as birds guided by the wind. These leaves, bringing messages of nostalgia, were making ​​her ask herself if it would really worth wait for something that she does not even know, but knows that exists, because she feels it.

The wet wood that was supporting her thoughts was giving her the necessary comfort to talk to the dancing sea breeze that was helping to spread her hair through the air, by undulating and surreally fascinating movements. The salt water that could not touch her was silently kissing her, tranquilizing her fiercest fears and releasing the small griefs her hope was forming, while it proved her determination to be happy in a happy world.

Distantly, she was hearing the bells and the drums, setting the rhythm of the lives of all those who hadn't told them to play. From this quay, it was possible to listen carefully to what these signs were singing, and not merely hear. If they could read the gusts behind that calm and slight smile, would see, instead of sympathy, conspiracy. This had never happened before, because nobody cares about what someone that does not play thinks or feels, because they will always be mere abstract thoughts, once the impossibility of action. Limitations Ariana watched passively, despite the interior brechtianism that was the basis of the strength and the courage that made of her an excepcionally kind woman. And dangerously contesting.

Closer, she heard her name be acclaimed among the simulations of lives considered normal, at her right. With eyes wide and mouth slightly open, due to the constipation reflecting had caused her, she turned her face to understand what had happened. Her hair fluttered in surprise to the opposite side and showed the magnitude of a slender and simple woman.

And never will.