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nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

as tuas mãos serão sempre mais pequenas que as minhas (mesmo que me tentes enganar quando mas dás no frio e me aqueces). sinto falta do teu toque. acordei com a chuva e com aquele poema de e.e. cummings que elliot deu a lee em ‘hannah and her sisters’ – (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands.

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