Pucha que se hace difícil alejarse de lo que uno lleva dentro.
La noche regó de luces la vieja ruta, el asfalto se pintó de un gris amarillento, el frío pegaba tan duro como la piña de un gigante que no te dobla porque te abarca por completo, debía mantenerse en movimiento si su deseo era sobrevivir, el día también marchaba hacia su ocaso.
Empezó a cantar solo con el pensamiento, para mitigar los negativos sentimientos. Veía como salía humo de su nariz al dejar escapar el aire al igual que al retirarse el calor de todo su cuerpo. Sin rumbo estudiado o por lo menos meditado solo para matar el tiempo, caminaba semi rápido para donde repechaba el viento, su ropa no era para tal ocasión y el clima quería hacer que lo supiera, hacían unos pesados diez grados bajo cero. No poseía un lugar donde guarecerse y brindarle calor a su cuerpo, lo que empezó como un paisaje industrial ahora, se volvió desolación y oscuridad. Se acortó la visibilidad a unos escasos metros, atrás quedaron las luces blancas y los ladridos de los perros; ahora cada tanto un foco colgaba de un grueso cable, igual mucho no se puede ver con los ojos brillantes por las lágrimas que no quieren rodar porque ya endurecieron.
El hambre también cantaba tripas adentro, solo había masticado angustia y comido algo de tiempo. Ya no sentía el dolor en sus pies por las piedras que pisaban las finas suelas de sus zapatillas de lona. Sus pies ya eran dos bloques de hielo.
Antes que esto empezara, la policía, lo había echado de la terminal de colectivos dónde intentaba hundirse en el sueño.
Durante las horas de luz, no se le abrió ninguna puerta y eso que había golpeado gran parte del pueblo.
Y de repente sus ojos achinados por tanto frío y sueño, presenciaron un nuevo nacimiento, la oscuridad le dio paso a la claridad, estaba amaneciendo. Aunque sabía que se avecinaban las horas más difíciles, ya que apenas el sol pintara brillo y sombras en el suelo, levantaría la escarcha fría sembrada. Cruzó la ruta decidido a emprender el regreso, no se rendiría, lo intentaría de nuevo. Y como sabiendo que ganaría, refregó sus ojos que estaban "frío hielo" y dejó ver una sonrisa.
Hoy había vencido...
Hoy no se había muerto...
Hasta la proxima y solo hasta la proxima mundo.
Pucha that it is difficult to get away from what one carries inside.
The night showered the old route with lights, the asphalt was painted a yellowish gray, the cold hit as hard as the pineapple of a giant that does not bend you because it completely encompasses you, he had to keep moving if his desire was to survive, the day also marched towards its twilight.
She began to sing with the thought alone, to mitigate the negative feelings. She saw how smoke came out of her nose when she let the air escape as well as when the heat was withdrawn from her entire body. With no direction studied or at least meditated just to kill time, he walked semi fast to where the wind repelled, his clothes were not for such an occasion and the weather wanted to make him know, it was a heavy ten degrees below zero. He did not have a place to shelter and warm his body, what began as an industrial landscape now, has become desolation and darkness. Visibility was shortened to a few meters, behind were the white lights and the barking of dogs; now every so often a light bulb hung from a thick cable, just as much can not be seen with bright eyes from the tears that do not want to roll because they have already hardened.
The hunger also sang guts inside, he had only chewed anguish and eaten some time. He no longer felt the pain in his feet from the stones that stepped on the thin soles of his canvas shoes. His feet were already two blocks of ice.
Before this began, the police had kicked him out of the bus terminal where he was trying to sink into sleep.
During the daylight hours, he did not open any doors and he had hit a large part of the town.
And suddenly his eyes were slanted by so much cold and sleep, they witnessed a new birth, darkness gave way to clarity, it was dawning. Although he knew that the most difficult hours were coming, since as soon as the sun painted brightness and shadows on the ground, he would lift the cold sown frost. He crossed the route determined to return, he would not give up, he would try again. And as if knowing that he would win, he rubbed his eyes that were "ice cold" and revealed a smile.
Today he had won ...
Today he had not died ...
Until next time and only until next world.
gif creado en canva.com y subudo en imgur.com