Man in Pink

“I think our works are similar.” Suddenly you just turned and said that to me, talkatively.  We were queuing. That was the first sign which showed how talkative and curious a person you would become known to me.

“What’s your name?”
“***   ****”
“***   ****. Two names”

I didn’t catch your name anyhow.

It was August 2014, in South America. My first time in this continent. The looks of everything resembled the idea of Latin America that I have in my head. The sun was hot at that time. Dark and good looking Latin people with their cheerfulness, and liveliness. The characteristics of locals made me fall for the country, and maybe for South America. I just have to get to know the rest of the continent to eliminate that maybe word.

For the most part, it felt like a vacation: new unexpected country, strange looking and very cheesy food. I loved every moment I spent there.

He was wearing the dark blue shirts with white trousers on the first day. I suspect he wore the same dark blue shirt twice. And for the white trousers, I’m pretty sure he wore it every day. Maybe that’s the only trousers he brought with him. Not very hygienic.

And he was wearing this adorable pink shirt, again with that same white trousers. He looked cute in that color. It matched his skin–the white Caucasian skin, and his dark short hair, and the nerdy, old fashions eyeglasses on his nose. His little belly made him looked round and very huggable. It was at the party, the very boring one, that he came to me in pink, started talking and asking me about my plan for the future, like a teenager trying to find an answer for his way in the world. That was when I started to pay more attention to him. That night at the party, I was aware that I might fall for him–he, who came to me, all in pink.


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