My rabbit is a hopper

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I visited the Wonderland, as once Alice found the entrance following an intriguing rabbit. My rabbit was a hopper, bouncing from the corner of a street to the other end. Perhaps it was the gray silver hair that intrigued me. Perhaps it was the mischievous smile that made me recall his name. Luckily, my rabbit wasn’t all the time looking at his clock as the Alice’s. Rather, he put his clock away from the sight. The calmness, then, sat around, allowing other cats to relax around him. I kept following this rabbit, and eventually he led me to the entrance of the Wonderland. The entrance was decorated with a tank top boy whose heart was output from his transparent body. Up until then, I couldn’t even imagine that I’d be the boy.

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But it’s not something regretful nor disappointing. It’s been a good encounter of myself and of my emotional turbulence. Yes, there still remains a nostalgia of the aventure that I realised inside the Wonderland following that silver rabbit. My rabbit was a hopper. He bounced off from the bed to bath, and bath to bed. We drank tea on the table where cats sat with us. We drank air where a turtle deceived us the season. Luckily, in my Wonderland there were no castle and deck soldiers. Instead, there were miniature Dutch houses and book soldiers. There was no uptight queen, but a wise bison, surely a European one, omming on the environment.

My rabbit is a hopper. He now bounces to Turkey and to Vietnam. So I arrived to the end of this aventure. Maybe when he is back, he’d lead me to another aventure. But I had to close the door behind, walking towards the streets of this city. I walked the street, giving some bites to a pumpkin empanada. The sweetness of such bites reminded me of those soft bites I left on his back shoulders. I tossed my gaze to the sky of this cloudy day. I could see the sun hiding behind the gigantic shoulders of intangible clouds. Cold wind blew strong sharp, cutting my ears and nose. I still have the rabbit’s aroma embedded to my clothes. Sooner or later, they’ll forget such aroma. Everything eventually winds away, but as it goes its aroma spreads away too. Tomorrow that aroma will be traveling over the Turkish air, over the Vietnamese air.

Last night I came back home with a sigh. My housemate invited me to go out with him to El Universal to listen some friends playing. Distraction helped. I greeted many other singers that I know, and they asked me of my recent life. So I told them my aventure to the Wonderland.

– I’m sorry, said Jay Bird, a guitarist, patting me.

– Thank you for saying it. But don’t worry. It’s no one’s burden to bare. And if I go to Paris, the more firmly I decide to go, the more chance I leave the rabbit and the Wonderland behind in my past.

He hugged me, without a word. He told me that his girlfriend goes back to France in a few days, and he will be in my position then. Since I told him my aventure, he told me his. I’m sorry too, I said to him, patting him back and hugged him firmly.

On that night at El Universal, Jay Bird sang on the stage, for his girlfriend. I saw the girl sobbing quietly. It was because the song and the guitar playing were so beautifully touching. Such a talented boy, I thought, that he could be much more famous if he were in a stage somewhere in New York. I hugged her from behind. She was still sobbing. It was like me hugging myself as well, for we both knew that we, both, are heading to France, soon enough.

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