Sonhos relembrados

[...] when she peeked in, Denise saw three couples talking quietly over small circular tables. In the corner was a jukebox playing a country song, the nasal baritone of the singer quieting as the final lyrics wound down. There was a short silence until the next song rotated through: "Unchained Melody". Denise stopped in her tracks when she recognized it, pulling on Tayor's hand.

"I love this song", she said.

"Would you like to go inside?"

She debated as the melody swirled around her.

"We could dance if you'd like," he added.

"No, I'd feel funny with all those people watching," she said after a beat. "And there's not enough room, anyway."

The street was devoid of traffic, the sidewalks deserted. A single light, set high on a pole, flickered slightly, illuminating the corner. Beneath the strains of the music from the bar drifted the sound of intimate conversations. Denise took a tentative step, away from the open door. The music was still evident behind them, playing softly, when Taylor suddenly stooped. She looked up at him curiously.

Without a word, he slipped one arm around her back, pulling her closer to him. With an endearing smile, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then lowered it into position. Suddenly realizing what was happening, but still not believing it, Denise took an awkward step before beginning to follow his lead.

For a moment, both were slightly embarrassed. But the music played steadily in the background, dispelling the awkwardness, and after a couple of turns Denise closed her eyes and leaned into him. Taylor's arm drifted up her back, and she could hear his breathing as they rotated in slow circles, swaying gently with the music. Suddenly it didn't matter whether anyone was watching. Except for his touch and the feel of his warm body against hers, nothing mattered at all, and they danced and danced, holding each other close beneath a flickering streetlight in the tiny town of Edenton.

Nicholas Sparks, The rescue

Sim, é piegas, é lamechas, tresanda a chavão chorado dezenas de vezes... E literatura tão cor-de-rosa, quando é demais, faz danos demorados de reparar... É como uma catapulta para criar castelos de areia nas nuvens... Mesmo assim...

Relembro aquela noite, alguns anos atrás, quando quase tudo ainda negro para mim. Tinha medo, insegurança, e trazia sempre os sonhos (já tão corridos e gastos) comigo, onde quer que fosse. Naquela altura em que acreditava em príncipes encantados no verdadeiro sentido da palavra. Aquela noite... quando me pediste para estarmos a sós, dividiste comigo algodão doce e foste comigo na montanha russa. Quando me teceste elogios que ambos sabemos serem impossíveis naqueles dias (anos). Chamavas-me aquele nome que nunca ninguém mais chamou, lembraste? E quando ao passearmos à beira rio me ouviste desabafar como gostava da música que vinha de um bar. Era tarde e estávamos ambos cansados de um noite cheia. Mesmo assim sorriste para mim, pegaste na minha mão e dançaste comigo. Ali, no meio da rua, no meio da noite. E ainda nunca tinha dançado com ninguém, foste o meu primeiro par, sabias? Nenhum de nós tinha jeito para aquilo, ou melhor, eu tinha o meu coração no máximo, contigo e com a música, impossível de conseguir seguir-te da forma cândida como me seguravas.

E agradeço-te por essa noite. Por me teres feito sentir tão especial. Por hoje poder dizer com carinho que vivi um momento de filme...