Where did the tremor get you?

I like to sleep in the evenings. Not every day but on certain occasions. I like to sleep in the afternoons that it rains and the windows fog. I like it when it rains. And I like to remember that my father told me that water is life when we went hunting for frogs in the garden of the old house. "Is not Dad that water is life?" I asked my father as if he had insider information. Sure.

The last afternoon I slept listening to the rain, I had one of the coolest dreams I've ever had in my life. Real, detailed, vibrant, restorative and undoubtedly revealing. One of those disgustingly real dreams of which one wakes up as happy as if it had happened. And so sad because no (chingadaputamadre) happened. It has probably been a dream come true because of the longing for past times still present.

Piquénle to the link and play play (Well in my dream this was the background music and nobody is hurt to listen to Jamie .)

I dreamed about this man who was so mine and the only one I really belonged to. My best friend, my best lover, mine. The product of all the things that I dreamed in my adolescence and that were refined in my pre-adulthood.

We smiled in the distance. As we always smile. With the same faces of endorphin idiots we met the first time we had dinner together. She was disgustingly radiant and happy to see him. And as always (as with many things) I could not resist the urge to go and hug him. He held me for a long time. The smell. And as I flew over thick, fluffy clouds of colored sugar with sparklers and unicorns dancers, I could only express my joy / disbelief by repeating "Every day."

Every day I miss it. I miss something every day. Every day it manifests itself. It appears in books, on television, in some random situation, a taste, a slight pleasure or something said in those more than 730 days. Every day it manifests itself in my memory.

"Me too. No one knows the things that you know" (Why say no, if yes?) And who grabs and kisses me. He kisses me like the first time he came to my house and kissed me in the rain next to the trash cans (the nice romantic crack detail).

We were sitting in the zocalo. Waiting for something. I do not know what. Something. And we talked about all these months (cof, year and group) and our lives, meetings with other people, university, work, our families and movies. "And I'm not just happy, I'm happy because you're here" (And in the dream it repairs itself, what not?) < And we hear the sound of a horn of Tarzan (Fino) and a bike-taxi awaits to take us to San Ildelfonso, like that time we took so sophisticated transport to go to the Theater of the City to see Jorge Drexler ("I charge you 50, sir. Just let me have the challenge of wearing it" / If from the heart to the fingers there is nothing in my body that does not make you vibrate.)

And as we walked, the characters of our story appeared; the filthy jipi who played the guitar in San Miguel de Allende, Coyoacan and Taxco. Mrs. Herrera del Rincon de la Higuera. The transvestites of 69. The pseudo-red-haired fat boy who sells dolls and lies mothers. Mr. Chie of Chinese food. The barbecue grill of my market that still asks for Him. My mother and the talks in the kitchen. His friends. Comet and Goliath. His mother and the cardamom breads. My father and the invitation card to Jesus. ø and M. The band from Zaragoza 33. Valeria and Luis. Dinner at the Sauer's house. Afternoon in Orchids. Sweets on the Swedish border. 10 closed and 10 reasons not to leave us.

As temporary tattoos, Terry Gilliam, Neil Gaiman, Christoffer Boe, Tun Tun and the Red Horse. The posters of old movies of the store of Francisco Sosa. Pictures of movies and book covers we learned together. Sundays in Stockholm and long walks through the city at dawn on any Sunday. Lyn May. Eh Eh and Maria Rita greeted him. There is a light that never goes out. Tideland. Crash. Hunter S. Thompson. From Hell. Chaos of Koudelka reflected on the floor. Luna Park. Robert Smith / Just Like Heaven.

We continue walking around San Ildelfonso, chirping and drinking Beaujolais Nouveau (as Christmas) with everyone. And suddenly we saw in the kitchen, where they prepared the snacks for the party. "Look, a cake, let's eat it" with that expensive face that he does when the food touches him. "We can wait," I said. A girl in the middle of the two said "You can wait, I'll soon serve you a piece and you'll see that the wait will have been worth it".

Dreaming your daughter is like monearte in Garibaldi after you have thrown some clean master shots frosty with detergent seal.)

Chavela Vargas in his song "The Simple Things" says that one always returns to the old places where he loved life.

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