What was that? What was that you had that drove me wild?
Though it happened too many years ago, I still think of you once in a while. We shared a few memories but they were so intense. At least, I think so.
I still remember the madness of meeting you.
Out of the blue, while I was bored and sad, when Silencios Incómodos were about to play, you approached to me and you asked me if I could light you up a cigarette.
I was smoking and I gave you my Zippo and then you lighted your cigarette. Meaningless seconds elapsed and you returned it to me.
A few songs later I wanted to light another cigarette, but I couldn't find the Zippo.
I thought you had kept it for mistake -I was a little bit drunk- and I looked for you.
When I found you, I asked you for the Zippo.
Then I saw you in detail, under the dim lights of Foro Alicia.
Dunno why -maybe I was drunker than I thought-, but I liked you a lot.
As your closed eyelids reveal some kind of devotion, your lips tasted like youth.
They were soaked in alcohol and they were simultaneously tender and aggressive.
A week later, we met in a park.
Honestly, I didn't like you under the daylight.
I felt abusive and stupid.
You were several years younger than me!
We talked on the telephone for several months.
I got used to your voice. Guess I knew you and got interested on you, in this way.
Sometimes you were the only person I heard all day long.
I remember smoking pot one night and thinking about you.
I was listening to Fiona Apple's Extraordinary Machine.
I started to read a letter that you had written to me.
It turned out to be one of the funniest experiences I ever had.
Your words where so innocent and reflective at the same time.
It seemed that you were just playing the fool.
On that letter you said that one night before you were about to sleep.
You were brushing your hair in front of the mirror and then you felt excited for an unknown reason. Then you took away your shirt and started to look your naked breast.
You said that I could see your breast, though we were not closer friends. You wanted me to ask you to be my girlfriend.
As the piano sounded on my bedroom and Fiona sang This Is Not About Love, I become obsessed with your breast.
Had it been necessary that you had specified on the letter that you were wearing 36-B bras...?
Sometimes you were so direct and I was so stupid.
I used to feel terribly guilty.
Another night we went to a bar to drink a beer.
We sit face to face.
You wore a blouse with a neckline.
The blouse was green and the neckline was amazing.
I drank beer after beer. It was impossible to not sink into the abyss of your breast.
Nonetheless, sometimes you were so cruel.
I guess you got tired.
You were willing to do what I wanted, but I did not do anything.
You said that I was too polite and too respectful and too different from the guys you used to hang out with, but you also incessantly said that I was a real bad kisser.
I guess you just said so to provoke me.
You wanted me to be a little bit disrespectful, but you got bored of my endlessly politeness and then you started to hate me and then you decided to ignore me.
Our relationship finished.
It was easy for you to broke with me, even though you were not exactly my girlfriend.
They were another guys interested on you.
Immediately, I felt so ill and I tried to write about you.
It was too recent and everything I wrote sucked.
I started to care a lot about you. I wanted you to be my girlfriend.
I wanted so bad to be with you, but you just rejected me.
All the songs I heard were about losers and guys in love with wrong people.
Each time I heard Extraordinary Machine, I felt so sick.
I wanted to threw up. I wanted to stay in bed all day long.
I thought you deserved more than words.
Now I can write about it.
[This Is Not About Love-Fiona Apple]
