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Reconhecimento

Saindo de um hospital, vi um homem caminhando, braços dados com a esposa. Ela, de olhar cansado e tenso, o apoiava.  Ele andando lentamente, carregava o soro que ainda pingava em suas veias. Cansado também andava. Vestia o pijama azul hospitalar, a roupa dos quase mortos, daqueles a quem não se quer ver, pois nos lembram que o pijama cabe em qualquer um.

Passei por ele e seu olhar tinha um brilho intenso. Brilho que só quem já caminhou passos semelhantes pode entender. "Boa tarde! É bom uma caminhadinha, né?"  Reconheceu-me também pelo olhar. Sorriu. "Estou aqui há 30 dias. Me deixaram caminhar semana passada e hoje arrisquei perguntar se podia vir pra fora. E não é que deixaram!" Sorriu de novo, dando uma olhadinha para o alto.

 Senti um ligeiro aperto no peito, mente e coração voltaram no tempo. Pijama azul, passos incertos, um pé de cada vez,  até a janela onde batia o sol.  A constatação da beleza de uma árvore florindo, da grama verde e molhada depois dos meses de seca, do céu azul, após tantos acessos intravenosos, catéteres, sondas, aparelhos, exames, escuridão e morte. A sensação do calor do sol na pele, a vida da natureza que segue, aleatória, e a esperança de um dia ainda fazer parte dela. 
- Que maravilha, né? Já passei dois meses em hospital. Sei como é ver o céu assim!
Ele sorriu largo, o olhar sorriu também. Falei, mas nem precisava! Sei que ele já sabia! Ele me reconheceu.
- Tudo de bom! 
- Para você também! 

Fui andando, passos naturalmente largos, o vento nos cabelos. Caminhando no meio daquela natureza, daquele céu, que uma vez olhei de fora, com sombras de dor, olhos de encantamento e uma gota de esperança. Sei que ele, apoiado pela esposa de olhos temerosos, me olhou caminhar dentro da natureza, dentro dos tons azuis e avermelhados do pôr do sol e pensou: "Quem sabe eu também, um dia ..." 

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