I came by the library this evening before bed. I looked at the books, rejoicing in their existence. Then came upon that photo of Zé and Guida taken by a friend, Maria João I think, in Rua Augusta, some hundred years ago. They are embracing, and their smiles contain a ton of early sunshine and boundless hope.
It's a black & white photo, eaten at the edges and a bit faded here and there. But it captures the rapture of youth so well that it aches to look at. Zé is posing, but fooling no one about his eagerness to soar, and Guida sports that shy giggle of hers, half-way between regret, mockery and willfulness. They both look flawless. And I love them so much. Both stuck in that photo, like a feeling stuck inside my mind in time. They both look so damn flawless. Like pure emotion. Flawless.
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