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This morning, while I was going to the kitchen, I just realized the sound my steps were making on the hall while I was stepping on the Florentine sand stone on the flooring. There was such a sound; I could hear it carefully, because I just woke up and my senses were strengthened. In that moment on my computer started “TheEND” because of the “shuffle mode” I use on my Winamp. For a moment I felt like clenching my fists. I stopped from walking and I just listened to the melody: I was feeling good. The only thing I was wishing for was my dad screaming at me to lower the volume because it was really high, or maybe just my senses were so awake… My father said nothing, and I was in such a morrisonian mood. I really wished for somebody doing me wrong, saying something I didn’t agree, or anything at all… With great burden I made my first step. When my bare foot hit the sand stone’s surface, my ears were on the point to explode. I never felt that way before… but never felt after that day ever after, not even now while I remember this for putting it down, I realize that was a really unique feeling. I thought: “what would it be if I pay a visit to my brother”; after a quick recapitulation I realized my brother lives with his wife at their apartment downtown, no way I could go to his room and do something (the song didn’t say anything). Then I realized my mother was away, too: at work. The only one home was d(e)ad. I was listening to the lyrics “he walked on down the hall” while I was standing just in front our living/diningroom. Through the doors glass I observed my father was watching TV. In that moment I realized how the idea really started growing on me. And it grew, and it grew, and it grew bigger than ever. I usually have fights with my father; the last I remember was about loud music, and he said I was not going to do the network with my neighbors and I really couldn’t put up with. I am sick of being alone, so I suppose having a network would really help my talkativeness. I was standing in front of that door, in front of my father’s room, when he gets out of there staring at me like he had seen a white ghost. Guess my face suddenly turned white, but I was thinking of him as a future ghost. With a very superior look, he told me with a special tone in his voice expressing he felt obligated to say something, not that he was of any interest in what he was saying. All sounded more like a poem learnt by heart: “Go dress yourself. It’s very cold on the sandstone. I’ll catch a cold again.” |
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