i was confused, i bet he was too; albeit, what we had was beautiful.
I want to write you a letter. In between glasses, voices of birds singing, the sky, the morning light, the empty liquor bottles and every other things that don’t believe in how beautiful your eyes are to me. Buenos días! Qué onda? Our reality exists between your chest and my imagination. Our reality exists between your dreams and my little fingers. We are far, but we are near, are there anything more real than our blurry feelings? You were there in my sleep. Was I there in your sleep?
To love is to submerge ourself in the ocean of little insignificant things yet so powerful they made us upset. Right here at the Alameda Central, I’m mesmerized by the greeneries in the middle of the city, but then I realized all these lushes are sadness.
The most beautiful thing we have is our memory. I remember you said things are always better in the autumn. And there we met, Colonia Roma, November the twentieth. But now winter is here with the cold short days, hold your hand to the blaze.
The wind blows cold, and strong.
Let’s share each other’s dream.
Let the fires burn.
It will protect us from the winter night.