Page 3 - Foreigner in my own country. - Draft - (Literature/story)

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My brother was the one who gave me the phone, he was exhausted, dawn from having played on the computer during the night, dawn and premise of dawn. It will be 6 am as the clock warns, I look at the window with the intention of admiring, recording in my memory another unreachable dawn, as far for me as touching its beauty with my middle finger, is a habit and tormented me in my mind that time of exile away from ineffable landscape. . I do not torment myself, it is exquisite to observe a beautiful landscape, that effervescent euphoria arises when knowing that in next scenes there was not much missing; the reunion of my favorite person of my unexpected September, dear there are totally precious scenes of the nature, but you make beauty any visual shot that you appear. . I take care of my needs as an average human being that develops in the bathroom, I stayed a long time thinking about the fortuitous date ( date at least for me, that's how I considered it), you inspired me to sing: "if ours isn't good, without wanting one falls in love, if I have a good time with you, so be it for a few hours" - the bathroom with its peculiar animal smell for my pet, I surrender without objecting to the shower, I pressed myself insistently with the little time I had. . when I went out you called while I was still half dressed, repeated jeans but kept color, neutral smell, style; accompanied by a pair of black shoes with half worn red edges and sent to resurrect in a shoemaker, socks of different pairs and unequal colors, a sports short (used by footballers) underneath; old custom of my old dream of being a professional player, decent boxer that I don't know because I describe but it doesn't count.... . Chemise brown, which I chose at the last minute because the color expresses seriousness, where we would go to be formal character consider it appropriate, white shirt below the brown, provides comfort to give me warmth, style, because you can not see my chest to simple light, is a habit I adopted from my ex, my worn out way of dressing that I manipulated years ago made me see that my clothes were falling apart in ragged fabrics, I scolded demanding a better taste for fashion. . It makes me aware that we are political animals full of customs, for some reason without reason. . My usual face with marks of having suffered acne, the long hair shouting for a cut, the bath that preceded my skin, happened as fleeting as our love, a bath of police, fireman or doctor in emergency call. . xx/xx/xxxx . 5 days after I found out about your trick with me. I will try to be as explicit as possible. .
. 05:54 am. We had agreed that you would call me in order to wake me up. I put it to you unconsciously, I knew that the glow of your voice would make me react, wake me galloping up. This would save me the task of fighting an alarm clock. Instead of an alarm clock, a motivator is more effective. . After having vacated the bed with its ordinary disorder, passed through the bathroom, dressed fleetingly. You called again for a matter of two seconds, when the call fell, between indecisive in waiting for you to call again, or take initiative and be me who calls. After a brief moment, you called. You ask if I was going to leave with your voice soft, asleep and broken. Immediately I answer: Allow me to eat quickly and I'll let you know when I go up. You answered: "All right". I knew you wouldn't refute. . While I ate, I was careful not to stain the shirt, I tried failed because I ended up dirtying it a little. While in my head you were roaming, with the same force I was machinating that to put myself again, pressed by the time, I changed at the last minute, I changed the green fluorescent sports shirt for a brown chemise. I had read that brown enhances seriousness, it is effective for interviews; when we went to an institution where your school papers would be validated, I assumed it would be perfect. Ignoring how horrible it has degraded professionalism in general in Venezuela, institutions, professions, services... . I used my razor at the last minute to touch my face, I brushed my teeth, I applied deodorant. I finally decided to call you and warned you that in a few minutes we would meet at the usual meeting point. I must have imagined that the elevator would be failing again, so when I realized that I was not turning on the button, I opted to go down the stairs quickly, which did not frustrate me at all, I found it exciting to run towards you, towards your arms, your lips. . At last I left the building, I saw a beautiful morning bathed in grey clouds, it had drizzled a little. Now that I rewrite the panorama. In my high school days, it reminds me of the grey of the steps in the courtyard, the grey of the windows built on some kind of metal, the grey of the sky. . I agree to go up the series of streets that precede my favorite place. It's a favorite because you find a library, a historic building, a beautiful place to spread out: stands where they usually place flags from different countries on holidays, I don't know because I have a penchant for visualizing people, analyzing them, enjoying them in my mind. Describe them, try to guess: what do they feel, what do they think, where do they come from, where are they going? . It's also a favorite because I spent brief moments with you, not because you've played with me it's no longer a game, let's be clear! I won't let you ruin it. What's more, it helps me to remember you, when you get hurt you have two ways, or you improve or allow yourself to self-destruct. . I calculate 7 streets of distance, in the trajectory the misery is noticed, that has been transmuted in my emotions, because to pass for any street of Caracas inside me, resounds a fear, for the people, for the delinquents, and the same police. With courage offered by my insatiable desire to see you, I climb the stairs passing through the enormous entrance, with my restless look I try to locate you with anxiety, and nothing. It's not until two girls sit there that you stare at me, looking for what you haven't lost. . As I passed some stairs, I saw her go down others, I was as excited as a dog when I saw her owner. Nearby were two policewomen, they made me uncomfortably nervous, maybe it's a phobia -celionophobia! Fear of the police, I think that's how it's defined. By ignoring the law "doing her job," I approach the pretty little woman. Intellectual lenses, with a tender face preserving childish tenderness, her black hair combed with debauchery, could be treated as AA classification due to her angelic face. .
. Source of images and gifs. https://gfycat.com/gifs/detail/ThoroughHiddenHippopotamus https://ciberturista.com/caracas/panteon-nacional/ . Part one Part two

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Posted from my blog with SteemPress : http://purapapita.vornix.blog/2018/10/04/page-3-foreigner-in-my-own-country-draft-literature-story/

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