Necajita

Cateodata sunt necajita. Nu pot pune mana pe motiv, asa sunt. Poate ca, daca as fi sincera cu mine, l-as putea afla, insa nici macar nu ma obosesc. Sunt prea necajita sa ma mai ocup cu lucruri marunte, ca explicatii, motive. Si-atunci stau pe o banca imaginara, cu mainile impreunate in poala, si ma uit fie la pamant, fie la nori. Ma uit fie la trecerea de furnici incolonate spre un adevar doar de ele stiut, fie spre pasari adunate in stoluri ca litera V, zburand spre tarile calde. Si dupa cateva ore de privit, si stat, si suferit, ma ridic si merg si eu mai departe.

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