Given it was a Saturday morning, she woke up somewhat happy. The whole weekend was ahead of her and better yet, she had no plans, so all things could happen. She smiled to this thought while stretching her arms above her head and gently moving her neck to the left and then to the right. With a rather more of a charming yawn than a need of the body, she got up to soon see herself in the mirror. Amazing how blessed she had been by the gods to have that hair. Even she got amazed by how good it always looked no matter the length, situation, temperature. A good, healthy, beautiful hair which was now long enough to touch her bra strips. Moving the eyes down a little and opening her mouth as if completely forcing a smile, she observed her teeth. She leaned forward, closer to the mirror and spent quite a few minutes there as if inspecting a crime scene: she thoroughly looked at each one tilting her head to find a better position and light, observing the colour – some were different from their neighbour – the size, the format, which touched which when she bit, brought her jaw back and forth making funny faces and moving the hair out of her face so she could see them without distraction. As if taken away from a hypnosis, she blinked her eyes and kept them closed to get back some moisture that the teeth-inspection took away from them by keeping both open for too long. Naturally, she brushed them, faked another smile, then smiled with closed lips. With the old habit of sleeping only in her underwear and a tanktop since she was a teenager, she took off the top, felt her hair caress her back and shoulders with the movement and sat down to pee with her head heavily rested to her right on the glass of her shower. Abruptly taken back to another level of conscience, she let her thoughts drift away and the tiles in front of her suddenly seemed to be a tiny slideshow of pictures she had taken or been taken of: parties, dull and great celebrations, her nieces and nephews birthdays, trips with friends, nature, holidays with families, sky diving, office pictures, sunsets, people she no longer thought about, others she would forever remember and miss, smiles she would always think about, ex-boyfriends, beaches, mountains, kisses, serious faces, forgetful moments, her birthdays, places she could not place anywhere. Many different moments and all about, with and in her. The cracking of her neck to the left side snapped her out of the imaginary, yet real, pictures taking her into the shower. The lukewarm water felt relaxing, cleansing and the coconut oil that was spread all over her tall legs, thin arms, suggestive neck and hands made the shower an even more stimulating way to start off that Saturday. The towel felt slippery because of the oil and its sweet scent reminded her she was hungry. Wearing nothing but the towel around her head, she made her way to the kitchen, looked at the wheat bread, the cheese, the orange juice and the grapes. The green almost shiny grapes had liquid cousins sitting in a bottle for over a month now. The hope of opening that white wine in a great company was almost as high as the lust that came with it. As no company had been there yet to taste it and relish the highly possible extra benefits a good wine brings, she considered it bad luck to the poor soul who didn’t even know she was thinking about him, no matter who he was. She shrugged her shoulders in realism and with a rascal smile, opened it up and poured herself a good amount of wine that defied ettiquete. That was definitely a breakfast she had never had before. Doing that very unexpected something while naked was one more nice way to start that Saturday. After more than half of the bottle had been properly respected, she went back to her room, wore a strapless blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes and somehow made her skin glow, took other pleasant and millimetrically impeccable sips of the white drink, slipped into comfortable yet sexy sandals that showed her tattoo, painted her cheeks with a hale and hearty tone and decidedly walked out the apartment. The last drops were swallowed faster and more aggressively while taking the stairs down to the entrance hall. She greeted the doorman with a rather twisted good morning voice leaving the bottle on his desk. Light steps, hair shaking on her back, loose style and eyes being drawn to her. She smiled to them, at them, to herself. Another easy and calm step highly coordinated with her hips movements towards the weekend assured her, in a split second, that all she had just done was actually the only good way to end the weekend. She hit a bus that had the green lights for it and that was all that specific Saturday was ever going to offer her for the rest of her life.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Leonardo says:

    Bom, cada um lê e imagina e acha o que quer, ou que convém.
    Na maioria das vezes não tem muito a ver com o que o escritor quis dizer.
    Eu acho que a personagem queria se matar mesmo, era uma suicida, mas como não sou muito “psico”, acho meio difícil tentar entender o que pode se passar na cabeça de quem quer se matar. O título leva a pensar que não era assim, mas ……
    De qq forma gostei muito de com está escrito.
    Acho que essa menina tem um futuro…..como escritora, claro.

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