I Try And Feel The Sunshine, You Bring The Rain

I remember myself playing with soccer action figures ripped away from several birthday cakes, on a blanket on which I had drawn a soccer field with an indelible marker, while this song sounded in the boombox that my younger brother had bought with his savings a few weeks earlier. Perhaps the sound was so loud that it provoked the windows cracked. 

I was on my knees beside my bed, feeling ashamed of behaving like a kid. The door was locked and the boombox was playing Use Your Illusion II.

I didn't want to be disturbed nor to be discovered. I felt so guilty. I felt divided in two personalities: a playful kid, attracted to silly toys, and a rebel teenager, attracted to the tough world of rock n' roll music. 

While Izzi's voice sang something about what seemed to be his teenager life, I was focused in recreating a soccer match with these soccer action figures I had started to collect in junior high school. 

Since my brothers were born in the same month of different years, sometimes my parents celebrated their birthdays in the same day. A few years before I discovered Guns N' Roses on TV, they did so. 

By that time, it happened that I'd just begun to play in the soccer team of elementary school and I'd just begun to watch soccer matches on TV, so I had a soccer fever. 

That birthday my parents gave in to my whims –my brothers didn't complain at all– and they bought a soccer birthday cake. From then I'd asked my dad almost once per month to take me to the cake shop and to buy me some other soccer action figures. Once in a while my dad had accepted. He must have bought me around forty action figures without a cake. Now, it makes me feel we were some sort of partners in crime. He always did the what he thought it would be the best he could do for me. 

I'd discovered this dangerous band one day I was so bored from having nothing to do on summer holidays that I decided to turn on the TV. Boredom coincided with a music video called “Estranged”.

It was an incredibly crazy video. It included clips of a rock n' roll band concert in the old Munich Olympic Stadium and tattooed tough guys walking thru the streets, smoking with fantastic women in bars, descending from an enormous airplane, playing a terrific guitar solo in the middle of a storm in the ocean, jumping from a big fishing ship and swimming with a dolphin*. 

This eccentric video lasted almost ten minutes and it was supposed to tell a chaotic story of a troubled man named Axl Rose, who, apparently, tried to hide from police in the closet of a mansion and also tried to overcome the rejection of a woman he loved desperately. 

While “14 Years” sounded, I made a pause from my silly entertainment and begun to pay attention to the lyrics and to the music. It was raining outside. It must be one of the last days of summer. It must be Sunday. I'm pretty sure that the next day it would be my first day in senior high school. I was so excited. 

I was about to celebrate my fourteenth birthday on December. I wanted to quit my childhood, but it was so comfortable. A few hours earlier, my dad had drove us my brother and myself to the record store of the neighborhood. 

At the record store, I had looked desperately for the section of the Guns N' Roses albums' and, particularly, for the album on which “Estranged” appeared. I was obsessed with the song. It had transmitted me feelings I had never experienced with music. 

Finally, I had found the album and I had bought it on cassette. It was 1994 and I guess compact discs were rare. I'm not even sure if they were available by then. Vinyls, as nowadays, were so expensive. 

While it was raining outside and I was locked in the bedroom I shared with my brother, I was listening to it for the first time. It was a rad experience. Though my interest was to listen “Estranged” with high quality –I was so obsessed with the song, that I had recorded it several times from the music video directly from TV, and the sound totally sucked 'cause the boombox had also recorded the environmental hissings and the sounds of the living room–, this song caught my attention.  

I thought it told a story of a guy like me, trying to leave behind his childhood and trying to fake he was a man. I was so innocent. 

This morning, as I wrote this post, I just read on the internet what fans around the world think this song is about. They seem to be convinced that Izzi Stradlin tells the story of Guns N' Roses. Apparently, it took them fourteen years to become the biggest band they became right after Appetite For Destruction was released on July 21st, 1987. Other fans are convinced that Izzi tells the story of his fourteen-year friendship with Axl. 

Regardless of what they speculate, as I listen “14 Years” for a countless time –a few weeks earlier, I started to play it on guitar and I was so surprised that the chords are not a pain in the neck–, I prefer to believe it is about what I thought it was about, when I was about to have my first day in senior high school and when I was about to celebrate my fourteenth birthday. 

Up To My Neck In Sorrow

_________

*Ironically, by the time “Estranged” was filmed, Izzi had quit the band.

Can't Let You Roam Inside My Head

I met you almost fifteen years ago in a literary workshop.

You started to read a poem. 

It was about a woman and a man having an affair. 
She was on her knees and the scene described her in a position on which she was about to give him some sort of pleasure. The man was on his feet, looking at her breasts. 

For days I couldn't get rid of your poem.

The image persisted in my mind. 

It followed me day and night.

I thought it was a poem about you and me.
I could not stop thinking about you on your knees.
I could not stop thinking about you a seconds away from giving me pleasure.

I wondered, on my darker moments, when I was so exhausted of being lonely, about to close my eyes, what kind of pleasure would you give to me.

Once we went to a party. 

It was December. A few days before my birthday. It was cold. 

It was on a big house with fancy walls made of red bricks. 

We sort of slept in a couch. 

We were drunk. Another guy from the literary workshop was in the same couch with us.
He had a crush on you. 

As I closed my eyes and I sensed you by my side, trying to get some sleep in that awkward position on the couch, I remembered your poem. 

Instead of thinking about you on your knees, the first thing that came to my mind was your breast. 

So far, I hadn't thought of them.
Dunno why I thought your boobs were a couple of tiny pears.

In the morning, as we left the house and moved to our own places, we took a bus and the subway. 

You told me that you had noticed that I could not stop watching your breast since you had read that cursed poem. You were convinced of it.

I told you it wasn't true at all. 

Days later, on my birthday, I invited you to a party.
We slipped from people and you told me that you desired me. 
We had a strange thing. 

It was sad. I felt so abusive. 

No matter what, you insisted to repeat the experience.

The second time, it happened on January.
That day we had been drinking on nasty places. 

I just dreamed about you. 
I haven't seen you for almost fifteen years. 

In my dream, we were on an academic meeting, in a round table. 
You spoke about the possibilities of your career. 
You said that a person studying Literature could get a job as an economist and crazy non sense things. 

Then we took a bus. 

It seemed Ciudad Universitaria. 

I felt so sexually attracted to you. 

You wore a black and white turtle neck stripped sweater. 
It made your breasts looked so clear. They seemed a small pair of shy fruits.

You were by the exit door of the bus, about to walk out. I was by your side and we said good bye and we were about to do it kissing our cheeks. 

We accidentally kissed in the mouth. 

Your lips felted like velvetine. 

It excited me. 

I felt guity. 

In my dream, I had a girlfriend and she was on the bus, too. Obviously, I didn't want that she notice that we had just an accidental kiss. 

I felt guilty and excited at the same time.

You smiled and I couldn't stop thinking about your breast. 

Why did I dream of you?

Sometimes, dreams are so meaningless. 

Sometimes, they're not. 

An Airbag Saved My Life

For almost ten years I hadn't had vacations. I decided to take my wife to Taxco de Alarcon. It's located at the southwest of Mexico City, miles away from Acapulco. 

The experience brought me some memories of my childhood. 

Eventually, it reminded me of three guys I met at the School of Psychology. A couple of them were friends from senior high school, or they told me so. The other was a woman and the three of them were also friends at the School of Psychology. I met them at a boring class of Theories of Personality, I guess. We worked together. I've been thinking of them.  

I wonder what's up with her. 

The Screen Is Us And We're TV

I was a poser and a confused teenager when I started to study Psychology. 
I was seventeen years old. I had low self esteem. 
My face was full of acne. 

I always knew that I would study at Ciudad Universitaria.
It was a big deal. It was so scary. 
Excluding my dad, no one in my entire family –grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins– had made it to College. 
My family expected me to become a neurosurgeon. 

(What a hell! I wanted to be a writer!)

I used to live with a great level of conformity. 
My parents gave me everything I needed. 
I didn't have to get a job to buy books or compact discs. 
Since I didn't care about clothing nor parties, I really didn't need more money than I got. 

I was focused on my own interests. 
I didn't have friends and I didn't want to make friends. 
I was so selective and I had found many defects on the guys I saw on a daily basis. 

I didn't have responsabilities at all. 
Everything I did was reading, writing and listening music. 
Music was all for me. 
I was so crazy for Nirvana.
I wanted to play songs like Kurt Cobain. 
I got obsessed with him.
In a couple of years –since I knew of his music–, I became an expert on his life. 

In Junior High School, I was some sort of dork with the best grades. 
I even had a scholarship and I even got diplomas and I even was the one who gave the orders in the shooting guard. 

In High School, I got sick from being a good student and I started to skip classes. 
I started to leave my hair grow and I dressed like a homeless.

No matter what I stopped doing, I never had bad grades.
The worst thing I experienced was to be seen by some schoolmates as a dumb regular student.  
The scariest thing I experienced was that a corrupt teacher wanted me to buy him a device for his CPU. According to him, all my examinations were a disaster and he was "giving me an opportunity" to get rid of them. Nonetheless, he never showed me the examinations. 

I got so angst. 
I told my dad and we had a meeting with the principal. 
At the end, this teacher had a long story of corruption and he was fired.

(I wonder what kind of dirty business he's been up to.)

I also fantasized with women I liked. 

Dunno why, but I always had a crush on older girls.

They we're the opposite to me: they were good looking, they seemed to be more mature than me... and they had many friends. 
Dunno why, but they always preferred pop music rather than rock n' roll music (whatever it means). 

I wrote them poems and songs and stories in which we were so close together.

  
A couple of months before College, I was scared to hell. 
I didn't want to leave my conformity. 
I wanted to keep myself hidden in my bedroom.

I knew Ciudad Universitaria from my childhood. 
One of my aunts worked at La Biblioteca Central and she and my uncle sometimes took my cousins to visit the campus. A few times I accompanied them.  

Nonetheless, the first day of classes Ciudad Universitaria I was so impressed. 
Still remember the darkness of the road from home to school. 
I woke up at 5: 00 am and got to the school before 7: 00 am.
I took the Metro. Linea 3 was almost new. 

Ciudad Universitaria, really seemed a city. It was full of academic buildings.
It was full of students. It was full of academic life.  

On my first semester of classes, I had classes at 7: 00 am on a daily basis. 
I got to the University so early that I had enough time to walk from Copilco Metro Station to the School of Psychology and arrived fifteen minutes earlier to my firsts classes. 

Except by one, in all of my first classes, I had a lot of free time. 
Our teachers got to the classroom almost at 7: 40 am. 
We all employed this free time to meet us. 

At the beginning I refused to do it, but the classroom was full of pretty girls. 
They looked like the ones I had always fantasized with in High School. 
Soon, it became so obvious that I couldn't ignore them. 

These girls even had a particular way of speaking and pronouncing words. 
They had studied on private schools... they wanted to become therapists... on the previous summer holidays they had gone to Europe... her boyfriends were physicians, or they were entrepreneurs...

Things like that. My schoolmates we're strange creatures for me. 
One guy was always sleepy. 
He acted like a rockstar. He played on a band. 
When he got involved with the classroom, he told us that his band had recently recorded a music video and that one of the members of Café Tacuba had gave him a guitar. 

We spoke a few words. He liked Smashing Pumpkins. 
On the lasts semesters of Bachelor's Degree, he changed absolutely. 
He acted like a hipster.  
He acted like if we had never spoken. 

(Wonder what kind of academic work he's been up to.
Would he became a music producer of silly bands?) 

I met a guy. 
He liked, more or less, the bands I liked.
We immediately became some sort of friends. 
He lent me his copy of Antichrist Superstar. 

(Maybe I just bought a cassette and so he recorded me a copy of the album on it). 

From the beginning, I loved the album. 
The music was so aggressive. 
The lyrics were so violent, so cryptic and well written. 

They talked about the Bible, the Apocalypse and the Antichrist's arrival. 
Marilyn Manson was the main character.
His lyrics were so smart and made me think of my own life. 
Each song had a phrase or a chorus that repeated on another song. 
They were really rad and smart thoughts. 

For months I listened up to this album.

Today is a cloudy day –like the dark and cold first days of College– and I feel the same way I felt on my first days as an undergraduate student.  
I've been listening to this album on the last days. 
At 3 in the morning, I woke up from nightmares. 
Apparently, Marilyn Manson makes me sick.  

We're In A Dream In The Happy House

Still remember the way you kissed that stranger. 
He told you that he had found you pretty and he asked you if he could kiss you.
You agreed. 

I wanted so bad to be him, but your friend was so obsessed with me. 
She thought I was a weak guy with mental issues. 
I found her sort of cozy. 
I couldn't tell her that I wanted to be with you.
I was so lonely and confused. 

It started by accident. 

At 13 o'clock or so, I was walking thru the alleys of your school and then I unexpectedly found your friend. She was so happy to see me. She thought I was looking for her. 
It was awkward. I wanted to find you. 

You appeared half an hour later. 
You were sort of angst and bored and proposed us to drink a bear. 

Dunno why I accepted. 
I really needed to save money. 
I was supposed to buy tickets for a Sonic Youth show. 

It was almost 15 o'clock but we were already drunk. 
Still remember what you said about that stranger when you came back to our table.
I felt dizzy and jealous. 

Then, we moved to another bar and we never stopped drinking. 

Later, we moved to a really cheap and sordid place. 
At noon, we moved to a tavern full of elderly men. 

We kissed at the end of the journey. 

The entire day I had been thinking about kissing you.
I told you that I desired to kiss you. 

We were really wasted. 
I barely could stand up.

You saw me and you held my hand.

We kissed. 

My first feeling was that your warm lips were like an open vibrating sore. 

Then you murmured: "I didn't kiss you just because she's my friend..."
(Or so I remember.)

For days I was thinking how precise were my memories about this affair. 

Now, it seems another life. 
It happened almost 15 years ago. 

We are completely different.

You're divorced, you have a child genius and you're sort of a freelance writer.
I'm married, devoted to neurosciences (or so it should be) and happy. 

Sometimes I wake up from a crazy dream about that kiss. 

I still feel your warm lips like an open vibrating sore. 

Happy House, a song by Siouxsie & The Banshees on Spotify

The Same Post, But In Spanish (Details Included)

Like Blue Vibration Through The Sea

This is a recurrent dream on which I'm always in my old bedroom.

Though I know it is my old bedroom, it is so different from the real one. 

I'm late to get somewhere and I'm trying to clean up my bedroom. 

Somehow, I sense that the house is built from West to East, rather than from North to South. Everything changes accordingly. 

I feel sort of mad about time. I hate my routine. 

My old bedroom has a big fancy bed with a wooden-dark brown base. The mattress is yellowish and makes me ill. Everything is painted in pale blue. 

A big lamp is on and it irradiates a yellowish light, too.

The atmosphere is cold. 

My nose is like an ice. 

With my naked feet, I sense a soft and warm carpet. 

This is new. A carpet of the color of Cappuccino coffee expands through all the floor's bedroom. The caress is so cozy that I hate to be awake. 

I would love to go back to bed.

altrm.blogspot.com

It seems that it is pretty early in the morning. 

Maybe it is about to dawn. 

It seems one of those December days' of my first year as an undergraduate student. 

I used to wake up early in the morning. 

All my classes started at 7: 00 a.m. 

Sometimes I hated school. 

Especially on Sundays, I had nightmares about getting involved in the school with dangerous guys. They sold drugs and porno movies. I owed them money.

They always locked me inside a fridge and everything I did to escape was useless. 

I woke up feverishly from those dreams.  

At school, I felt out of place. 

My classmates were so dumb and I was so fake. 

They came from private schools and they were always talking about Europe and fancy restaurants. I had a bad temper, but pretended to be nice all the time. 

I was so angst about my future.

I just wanted to meet someone with whom I could speak about music and literature. 

I was convinced that all I wanted to do was to be a writer and there I was, studying a scientific career, dealing with silly guys who were crazy about having patients to tell them how to conduct their lives. 

I was about to leave my old bedroom, when Theresa came in. 

(Dunno why I dreamed about her. 

I always look for an explanation when someone appears out of nowhere in my dreams. 

So far, I haven't figured it out why did she appear on this dream. On the previous day, I didn't think of her, neither saw her or spoke to her. Guess she just kind of thought of me.) 

As she walks into my old bedroom, a strange sexual energy floods the stay. 

I sense that sexual energy through my naked feet. Somehow, I also smell it through my skin. It makes me feel so alive. It makes me forget about my awful routine. 

She smiles. Her lips look so fleshy. 

It seems that we have an unfinished deal and that she just came back to get over it. 

She looked prettier than she looks in the real world, but despite so I don't find her especially attractive.

Theresa is in front of me. So close to me. 

A few millimeters away from me. I can sense through my skin that she's so excited. 

She says something about the mattress or the furniture of my old bedroom. 

I try to say something, too. 

All of a sudden, she puts her hands so close to my crotch in a very sexual way.

She sighs so deeply. Then, she sticks her tongue out and licks her lips discreetly.  

Her attitude makes me feel so excited. 

I know I could make her everything I wanted to. 

Her body language says so. I feel about to have a heart attack.

I notice that she wears a yellowish turtle neck sweater.

Even though Theresa has a big breast in the real world, in my dream she's not.  

We kiss. 

She is so close to me that I feel her breast. It's less impressive than I had thought. 

Her hands are still on my crotch. I can't avoid to feel excited about her touch. 

Again, I know that I could make her everything I wanted to. 

Theresa smiles. I feel her saliva on my lips.

I don't enjoy the sensation. It makes feel dirty and low.

She leaves the bedroom and I walk behind her. 

I tell her I'm about to leave the house and she says that it is so unfair. 

She says that we started something and that we have to finish it. 

She says that I started the fire and now I just turned off the heat. 

Theresa smiles again, but this time I focus on her teeth. 

They're so yellowish and crooked. 

I feel nauseous. 

Woke up at 6: 00 a.m. from this dream, fed the kitties and started to write. 

Theresa's Sound-World

She Ripped My Heart Out And Gave It To Me

I was just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes.  

I must have been fourteen years old. 
All I cared about was rock n' roll music. 

All I did was listening music and writing silly songs on a notebook I lost at some point.

I wanted so badly to play in a band, but I didn't even own an electric guitar nor I had friends interested on music, in the way I was. 

I wrote day and night: in classes, between classes, after taking a nap in my bedroom, before I get to bed, as soon as I woke up in the morning... 

I was obsessed with writing songs.  

A few months before I met Claudia, my dad had bought me an acoustic guitar.

It was a cheap guitar. It was enormous and heavy. 
I'd changed the strings of the guitar so I could play it as a lefty.

I'd learned how to play some Nirvana songs. 

To find an electric left-handed guitar was so difficult. I'd tried to learn how to play guitar with my right hand, but I'd failed. 

I felt I was a terrible guitarist. 
I couldn't even play three chords' songs.
I felt I lacked rhythm to play the guitar.  

Nevertheless, I was convinced that all I needed it to improve my artistic skills was an electric guitar. I knew electric guitars weren't heavy and enormous. 

One day, a cousin went to our house with a left-handed Ibanez.

Dunno how he got it. All I knew was that he was involved on dark businesses.

He wanted $2, 500 MXN for that aquatic green left-handed Ibanez. 

The guitar was beautiful. It looked like the one Alejandro Marcovich played in the recording of El Nervio del Volcán. It was so cheap. 

In the very few music stores that I could find left-handed guitars, they were sort of expensive: their price fluctuated around $8, 000 MXN... or more!!! 

Even though my dad could buy it for me, it seemed an outrageous and an unnecessary expense. What about my little brothers...?

Dunno why my mom believed I was so stupid, but definitely she believed it. She was convinced that I would quit school and that I would become a junkie, if she bought me that electric guitar. 

Maybe she also suspected that the Ibanez was a stolen guitar and she didn't want to buy a stolen item, but I begged her. I desired that guitar. I imagined myself playing it day after day, just right after I came back from school. I imagined myself playing it for entire afternoons. 

My mom told my cousin she was able to pay $2, 000 MXN for the guitar.
My cousin was so greedy and he refused the offer.

I had to wait nearly ten years to buy my first electric left-handed guitar, with my own money... but that's another story I could write about it some day.   

I was so sad. I desired that guitar, even though Ibanez wasn't my first option. 

I preferred Fender guitars. I would have loved to have a black Stratocaster with a black pickguard or a sunburst Jaguar '65, like those Kurt Cobain made famous.  

I was focused on my sadness, when I saw Claudia for the very first time. 

She walked slowly through the schoolyard. 

It was a sunny middle day. The sun rays were febrile and they made me ill.

Suddenly, she appeared out of nowhere and became a shining star.  

I felt nauseous, I lost my mind and thought I was about to have a heart-attack. 
Though nauseas had been common since I was a kid, those nauseas were pretty different, almost like chills crawling right up my spine. The heart-attack sensation was totally new. 

I felt immediately attracted to her, as she walked thru the schoolyard.
Claudia's hair was brown and very brushed. 
It shined like a meteor. 
Her skin was the most white skin I had ever seen in my entire life. 
It was so white that I could almost felt my eyes burning. 

She was like a strange cold sun. 

For a while, we looked at each other. 

She smiled at me. 

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

Some guys followed her steps.
They looked so dumb. They looked like generic elementary school boys. 

For a moment I could see some of them drooling like thirsty Pavlovian dogs.

A few days later, Claudia and myself crossed in one of the alleys of the school.

I felt like a thirsty Pavlovian dog, too. My breathing rhythm became irregular.

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

She really was like a strange cold sun. 

Dunno how I had the guts to do it, but suddenly I touched one of her shoulders and I asked her if we could speak. 

She was so surprised, but she accepted. 

I had been thinking of her for an entire week, so I had spoken to her in my mind several times.

I asked her what was her name.

I must have told her: “Like the girl Lestat turned into a vampire...?”

She must have smiled. Or she must have thought I was an idiot. 

From then, we spoke almost on a daily basis for a month or so. 

Everything was ok, until I told her that I liked her so much.

She adopted a pretty different attitude. 
She became so serious. She told me that she had a baby.

I was so surprised. She looked so young. 

Immediately, I envisioned how was her life. 

Probably their parents take care of the baby while she was at school. 

I even imagined myself carrying her baby. 

When I digested the idea, I focused on her face.

She was in silence, but it was so obvious. 

I saw it on her eyes.

Her eyes said:

“You're just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes...”  

“I'm looking for a mature guy...”

I still don't know if she really had a baby or if she just wanted to get rid off me, but then I believed her and I stopped speaking to her for a while. 

When I tried to do it again, she rejected me.  

It took me almost an entire year to get her out of my mind.

I was so miserable. Everything became dark. 

My life was a blacked torture. 

Days and nights were so long. 
I didn't know rejection felt so bad. 

It was so painful and awful.

I still remember myself lying on my bed, feeling ill.

Counting each second as they slowly turned into another slow second.

 

I wrote her several teenager dumb poems in several pages of that notebook I had been employing for writing my silly songs. I never read her one single poem.

As I write this post I wonder where are those poems. I should known where are them. 

It would be so funny to read them and to infer how miserable I believed I was. 

I'd Never Dreamed That I'd Meet Somebody Like You

As my dad drove, I was sleepy in the back seat of the car.
We were goin' to Acapulco for summer holidays.

It was about dawn. The city was so quiet that it was creepy.
There were barely a few cars on the street. 

We passed next to the Estadio Azteca, and I thought of a goalkeeper.

His name was Ángel David Comizzo.
One night before his team had been defeated in that stadium by one of the most popular teams of the country. 

Even so, he had been the best player of the game. 

I had a big interest on goalkeepers. 

I was the goalkeeper of my school team.
Before summer holidays, we had even won a tournament against the athletic guys of our class. 

They were bad lossers. 
They reminded me of the enemies of Ralph Macchio in Karate Kid. 

Also, I had a couple of Uhlsport gloves that I just loved. 
Its fancy plastic smell drove me wild.  

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/

I fell asleep and thought of the girls I used to hang out with.
I had recently discovered that girls attracted me madly. 
And I wanted so much to find out how would it be to have a girlfriend.

I had a crush on a couple of girls.
They were so nice with me.
They were blonde and chubby. 
I never told them that I liked them so much.
I was afraid to lose their friendship. 
I wanted so badly to be with both. 

On that summer holidays, I met a girl that drove me wild. 
She was tall and she seemed a few years older than me. 
She and her family were also staying at the same hotel than us. 

I had found her a few times on the swimming pool.
Her skin was so white and her hair was so dark. 
Her eyes were brown, like big almonds. 
Her smile was so enigmatic, spontaneous and fresh at the same time.  
Her lips appeared so shy and soft that I just wanted to devour them!!!

https://www.visitmexico.com/

She had a small sister. 
Her sister was so naughty and she was always looking after her. 
A couple of times we crossed on the alleys of the hotel. 
Once we even shared the elevator. 
I was so excited!!!
I wanted to tell her that I was really in love with her. 
My mind began to fly away and my heart began to beat like a crazy war drum. 

In the chaos of my senses, I secretly thought how to speak to her. 

"Hi...! What's your name...?
Are you from Mexico City...?
I have seen you at the swimming pool...
Your little sister seems to be really funny..."

But always, at the last minute, I cowed.
Never knew her name. 

One hot night, her family and my family were at the same time in a small supermarket a few blocks away from the hotel. 
The freshness of air conditioning made me imagine the fantastic perfum of her dark hair.
Her sister suddenly ran from one side to another and broke a jar of glass. 
The noise brought me out of my thougths.
The girl blushed and I felt pity of her.   

For a moment, our eyes crossed.
She seemed to ask my help. 
Again, my mind began to fly away and my heart began to beat like a crazy war drum. 
But I pretended I didn't care about her and I walked away. 

I was an idiot. 
I always think of her when I hear this song. 

Wicked Game