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Mi morenita

Mi morenita tiene los ojos grandes, vivos. En ellos viven luceros eternos, estrellas fugaces. En sus pupilas se cuentan historias increíbles, surgen aventuras interminables.
Mi morenita vive con el cabello negro, largo. Con la mentira del color natural y la vanidad del tinte azabache 24 de cada mes. En el tratamiento viven las caricias que le llegan a la espalda, la orzuela es el enemigo mortal.
Mi morenita odia peinarse. Lo hace una vez al día como el peor momento de las mañanas. Camina enojada hasta el espejo, se mira aún con cara de sueño y luego toma su cabello para amarrarlo, deja escapar un par de pelillos rebeldes y se mira satisfecha por el error.

Mi morenita tiene la sonrisa enorme, los hoyuelos junto a los labios y el carmín por todo alrededor. Entiende de brillo y del poder que vive en el rojo número 14.
Mi morenita refleja la elegancia en esa nariz perfecta, amarrada a su cara cual pieza de lego de colección, adornada de cada lado por unas mejillas chispeantes de alegrías y rubor.
Mi morenita necesita que la abracen, como las plantas necesitan al sol. Es su alimento cada mañana cuando despertamos juntos y se derrite sobre mis brazos cada vez que me acerco a sentir el calor de sus huesos, el olor de su piel.

Mi morenita no es mia, es del mundo y de la libertad, pero hace que cada momento quiera cambiar al mundo y quemar en una promesa los kilos de libertad.

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