A girl wakes up in the middle of the morning.
She tries to open her eyes, fighting the bright light that comes in through the big window in her room, only to find out she's still dizzy with the alcohol from the night before...
She continues to blink repeatedly, but, eventually, she gives up, closes her eyes and turns around in her bed.
Suddently, she's overwhelmed. Even though her vision is terribly affected she is dazed by one of the most appealing smells she has ever felt. She can't quite explain what's taking over her, but she just keeps inhaling frenetically, like that smell is the best thing in the world! Better than the sea, better than the purple flowers that grow by the sea, better than red roses, better than turkey in the oven, better than whiskey, better than that sweet old perfume that used to make her head spin... Bah! She stops, she's losing it, as always... She shakes her head, tries to ignore the stupid memories of the old perfume and concentrates in that smell again. The warm, cosy, exciting feeling that it brought to her comes back. It's unexplainable, it's just to fucking overwhelming for her to control herself.
Without ever opening her eyes, she reaches for the smell, triyng to get close to it and to find out what it is that just makes her stomach convulse like it used to. She gets closer and closer and she finally feels something. Something incredibly soft. It looks like fur of some kind... or hair... Is it hair? Yes, it's hair, she's sure. But whose hair?
She wants to open her eyes, to find the answers to all those confusing questions that are hammering in her hangover head, but she knows what will happen... she knows what always happens... Every time se opens up her eyes everything that seems remotetly good fades away.
She can't take it any longer, she hates to live in doubt! She prefers to lose everything in order to know everything.
Her eyes slowly open and she smiles while looking upon golden locks of hair, shining in different tones of gold as the sun lights them. There they are, golden hairs all over, forming a beautiful patter like a spider's web. Still amazed by everything, she slowly takes her hand to it, craving to feel it's touch...
That's it... Reality alarm sounds, echoing in her head, everything's gone. She's alone and she's caressing her blood red sheets...
sábado, 27 de fevereiro de 2010
"Os gostos não se discutem."
Isto só acontece porque quem tem bom gosto desistiu de mostrar o que é o bom gosto àqueles que não o têm e os últimos nunca conseguirão entender os primeiros.
É esta a razão. É óbvio que as opiniões estéticas de uns não são superiores às de outros, mas a verdade é que há quem possua o bom o gosto e quem não se encontre promovido com essa condição.
photo: anastasia cazabon.