A personalized tour

I know that I am abolsutely going to butcher it the second I try to describe it, but I must attempt to put words to this feeling of mine I keep referring to. No fail, each and every day my intuition makes an appearance. It really is odd how keen this sense is that I have, and I am going to sound like an absolute fool while talking about it. I found that writing about the ways I am inspired here in a personified way, as in my last post, made it easier for me to convey the very difficult to describe feelings I have. I think I will try again this time with the same idea.
So sometimes I am drug around, seemingly aimlessly by this odd force within me. I know it must sound super hooky and weird, but here is my attempt at putting my abstract emotions into concrete words:

I am quite certain I left my contact solution in Toledo, so since then I have been using my roommate's. I do feel guilty using her things, so just about every day I say to myself that I need to go to the pharmacy (I pass about 700 just on my walk into El Centro) or to this huge Walmart/Macy's/Target/Kroger of a store called El Corte Ingles. Of course plans always come up, a friend wants to meet for coffee, someone else wants to wander around the city, etc, so I just didn't exactly make time to pick up stupid contact solution.
So, the other day I skipped my very precious siesta to make time to go to the store. FINALLY. I hadn't made plans with friends and at that time most were still esting lunch/siesting anyway- it was so perfectly set up for me to finally make time for practical things.
I set out toward El Centro with absolute and full intentions on going strictly to Corte Ingles. I even had this stupid mantra going in my head, just repeating "Corte Ingles, Contact Solution" over and over. I crossed one of the tinier streets, and of course about halfway across, the towers of Plaza de España made an appearance. They just popped their little heads up above the trees to say hello.
The thing is that Plaza de España and I have a very special relationship: A friend and I accidentally stumbled upon it one afternoon just as the sun was setting, of course. The brilliance of the building, the light hitting it just right, horse-drawn carriage rides, the glittering water fountain, the row boats in the moat; nothing about meeting this new friend of mine was less than perfect.
Anyway, so on the day that I had a mission, the towers enticed me, but only as per usual (because let's he honest, who wouldn't be absolutely mesmorized by the beautiful building?). I continued on with my walk, my mantra now screaming in my head to block out thoughts of aborting my plans and visiting the lovely place.
Still, I walked a few more feet, stopped, considered just maybe going to Corte Ingles another day, rethought, hesitated, and walked on again.
Just as the mantra started to become a bit of a song in my head, I got a very mean shove in the back by a very rude and hurried pedestrian. He was probably both confused and frustrated with my constant stop-and-go manner of crossing the damn road, and had finally enough of it. I turned around 180- not a soul. And again the other way: a girl with headphones in turned up far too loud, a father pushing a sleeping child in a stroller, pre-teens standing at the newspaper stand waiting for friends. Completely behind me, standing about 4 feet away, looking quite impatient, arms crossed, a stern look, brows tangled in the middle of his creased forehead, was a tall guy with dark hair. He seemed upset with me.
It was Intuition, the guy who has an awful staring problem, the one who I've always been curious about, but never enough to approach him due to his very formidable appearance and raspy-sounding voice. Sometimes I notice him on a park bench, or standing at a street corner, always with the same look on his face.
I, the type of person who avoids conflict like the plague,was still yet to confront that very brash-looking man, but I still had always wondered what it might be like.
"Maybe I can just have a small chat and it won't be so bad," I've always thought. But my more cautious and timid side always was able to find reasons against it.
But on that particular day, I think he had had enough of me ignoring him, pretending not to notice the hot stares that burned me just about every other day. I pulled off to the side of the sidewalk, allowing the people behind me to pass by. Intuition shook his head then headed toward me.
My body shifted, I avoided eye contact, my insides turning into knots.
As he approached, he reached out to shove me again. I twisted my torso to avoid the blow.
"Stop being so mean," I said as though I was an elementary school kid finally confronting a bully. I was scared of him, intimidated really. He was so persistent this time, he had never acted this way before. Finally he just pointed straight at the towers, and gave a small twitch of a nod.
"I can't go there today! I have things to do, I need contact solution and shampoo. I could probably grab some body wash while I'm there. Also I think I need toothpaste. I can't just keep-"
He cut me off, that rude man, Intuition.
Now, being in Europe I have begun to get accustomed to the lack of personal space here compared to the U.S., but Intuition literally violated even those minor rules when he grabbed my by the shoulders and literally turned my body toward the Plaza.
Of course I wanted to go, of course I could spend hours, days there. I was hesitant. I looked back up at him. He only narrowed his growling gaze and pursed his lips a bit more.
I took on step toward the direction he has placed me in, but I stopped there. I really couldn't. I shouldn't. I just needed to go grab my stuff, and I could just always come back. I had made up my mind. Corte Ingles it was.
Then Intuition did something I never, ever thought he would do. It was such an aggressive move and made me very uncomfortable. He stepped in front of me, picked me up by my waist, and threw me over his shoulder.
"PUT ME DOWN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??" I kicked my stupid feet and punched his stupid back. Who does this? I don't care how well I know you, you don't just pick people up like that! I could have killed him.
He walked briskly, dodging others on the streets, crossing the road without looking. I was so frustrated at that point, but I realized my strength was nothing to his massive body type. I still threw in a kick here, a slap there.
He didn't even stop as we approached the backside of the building. He marched right up the two flights of steep stairs and pushed past the Asian tour group posing for corny pictures. By that point I had grown tired, and gave up hope of this brute putting me down, so I just let my head hang down his spine.
We went over to to one of the balconies. He stopped, and turned around so I was facing outward into the Plaza.
The sun warmed me from the inside out. I lifted my heavy head, as all the blood had rushed to it by then. I stopped breathing. I felt my heart slow too. Every bit of my body became relaxed and I felt like I was home.
I hadn't even realized he had put me down then, that's how transfixed by the scene I was. The sun was hitting the towers in the most brilliant and beautiful way. Some Native American (weird, right?) guy with a huge feathered mohawk was playing a soft, lovely song on a wooden flute. Birds chirped, a toddler ran into her mother's arms down below. I looked up in the distance and saw the stoic Spanish flag slightly dancing in the breeze. 
Suddenly every inch of my skin became very apparent to me, I could feel everything. My hands on the painted tiles of the balcony, the shirt on my neck and stomach, the ring on my finger, the hair brushing my forehead. I remembered to breathe just then, gasping for air, almost choking like an idiot. 
In that moment, I swear I was infinite, as Stephen Chbosky would say. 
As cliche as it sounds, I felt so alive right then, I no longer wondered if this all was a dream, because it wasn't. It was real, it was what I was touching, what I was standing on. It really was what my eyes were seeing. 
Then I heard snickering from behind me. I remembered back why I got here. 
Intuition, that dirty, trickster of a man, who badly needs a shave, was just about doubled over with laughter by the time I fully turned around.
"You're an asshole," I said with a stupid, huge grin. I joined in his contagious laughter.
We sat together under the arches, just watching the people come and go. I have no idea what time is was when we finally walked back together. We shared a beer and told lots of stories before we each headed off in different directions. 

I think we became friends then, even though I do hate how pushy he is sometimes. 

I don't think I ever made it to Corte Ingles that day. I honestly don't remember. I did go eventually, spent way too much money, was very disenchanted by the spectacle of a department store, and they didn't even have the right kind of shampoo I wanted.



The view from where I stood: