We see people brand new people

As I register and tell my name to a woman at the entrance of the auditorium and sign a sheet and she gives me a gift backpack, a folder with several documents and a badge with my name, I sort of remember that I came here, to this very auditorium, almost 20 years ago. Those were different times, I was just an inexperienced guy with a degree in Psychology, months ago I had just graduated from the School of Psychology. The opportunity to start as a teacher of a Motivation & Emotion course appeared out of nowhere. One of the members of my thesis jury used to work at Ibero, and I didn't know it, but then, at some point of the review process of my thesis, I asked him if he knew how could I get involved into academia, that I wanted so hard to acquire experience in teaching, all I had done was to give two or three classes of one of the courses of my advisor. 

I've been exhausted all week, between Monday, Tuesday and Friday I teached 12 hours of classes, I still haven't adapted to this new stage of my life. I've also been writing a manuscript, it's a collaboration that someone proposed to me, this manuscript will be the second manuscript I write in 2025. Honestly, I haven't enjoyed the writing process, I am working against the clock, is not fun. I've been so busy that I haven't been able to go out for a run. For the last two weeks I've been waking up very early in the morning and starting to write this manuscript and studying and working for classes, and fixing some demanding bureaucratic issues. A month ago I was relatively free.

As I walk through the auditorium, I wonder how much the university will pay me. I can't stop worrying about money; it's a pain. I'm a Level 2 National Researcher, which isn't easy; I should receive the salary corresponding to this distinction, but all year I've been looking for an opportunity; I sent almost 15 applications for full-time permanent academic positions to almost 10 universities. None of them saw my potential.

Anyway, I look for a spot, find it, sit down, and have a flashback. I remember that Saturday, it must have been January 2005, I was completely different from who I am now, the only person who'd ever loved me had just sent me to hell, I didn't know how to teach a course, I was so näive, still lived at my parents house. 

I take a deep breath, I should be writing this manuscript. 

Then I see you. You're in the front row, your straight, horsehair-like hair drawing me in. It's so hypnotic and shiny. As if sensing that kind of mental empowerment, you slowly turned your head to the left. I sat to your right, and our eyes make contact. You're smiling at nothing, wearing magnifying glasses. I can't help but glance briefly at your breasts, and I'm shocked. I'm stupid. I shouldn't be thinking this. I wonder what it would have been like to meet you 20 years ago, I wonder what it would have been like to have sex with you. 

I'm sure I'll continue writing this manuscript when I get back home, but I'm sure I'll drink a couple of Jim Beams and also write a story about us, about how we met 20 years ago in a frivolous world, while academia is collapsing and we're listening to this Iggy Pop song about humans being like ice machines.

I Miss The Comfort In Being Sad

I wake up from this dream and it's 6:14 on Thursday, July 17th, you appeared out of nowhere, we're just “friends” on IG, I sent you a request in March, then I just had 200 followers or something like that (at this time, I have almost 750), and I did it 'cause we met and we spoke at a Sleep Medicine Conference, specifically when we attended a talk on Narcolepsy Type 1 and just as I was asking the lecturer if Sodium Oxybate was available in Mexico the microphone failed, your mentor and you were in the seats in front of me and you said Taking advantage of the break, Dr., I want to tell you that I saw your content on social media and I loved it. Perhaps I said Thanks and asked you if you had attended to my talk earlier that morning, it was Saturday, March 22nd. At 8: 30 I had spoken of Sleep and Metabolism and I had coordinated a Simposium, you said No and I smiled and the technicians fixed the microphone.

That was the last day of the Sleep Medicine Congress, I was more melancholic than usual, since October I'd been looking for full-time permanent academic positions at 6 or 7 seven universities, writing 3 or 4 Research Projects, several Letters of Intent and one paper that was published in February in a Q1 Journal. 

I'd already looked at you, it was impossible not to notice you. In addition to attending the Sleep Medicine Congress, you had participated in a poster session, you had given a talk a day or two before and you had won the first place of a research undergraduate contest. Many scholars had spoken to you, perhaps they were attracted by your clinician research project but also by your youth and your beauty, you must have been in your 20s. 

Besides being more melancholic than usual, I had been tired and sleepy in the entire Sleep Medicine Congress, I'm allergic to air conditioning and I had been exposed to a tons of air conditioning machines. At breakfast and dinner, I had spoken several times with a colleague of my age, he was also looking for a full-time permanent academic position, he had an academic profile similar to mine, we were disappointed, about to quit, to leave academia. 

At some point, when I became aware of your existence, I dreamed about you, the way you seemed to look at me, like if you were frightened or something, like if you wanted to tell me something, and I realized how easy it would be to impress you, and not because of you but because of the way it is, I remembered when I started as a Subject Teacher and students were easily impressed by me, they sort of saw me as a role model. Then, some of them, as the semesters ended, sent me weird e-mails and stuff like that. 

Anyway, the point is that I just dreamed about you, and it's 6:14 on Thursday, July 17th. 

In my dream, we were in my childhood apartment, there was another woman about my age, dunno why but the three of us had some sort of ambiguous relationship. It was early in the morning, we were in the bathroom. As I was brushing my teeth, you took off a bathrobe and you looked at me like if you wanted to tell me something, like if you were frightened or something, and I couldn't stop looking at your naked body, I wanted to feel you in my arms, feel your young and smooth skin, like if you were hungry for me. We kept in silence for a minute or two and then we kissed precisely when the other woman came into the bathroom. As she had some sort of relationship with me, it was awkward. Immediately I felt guilty, I guess she represents some sort of alter ego, how would I feel if I quit academia. 

In the real world, my colleague spoke me on the phone two days ago, he said he finally got a full-time permanent academic position, between March and July I've sent 3 or 4 more applications to 6 or 7 universities, I'm writing another paper, I got a Subject Teacher position at the same university where I started almost 20 years ago –it's like if I started from scratch–, everyone around me seems to get a full-time permanent academic position, I saw Game of Thrones last night, specifically the episode in which Stannis Lannister takes Melisandre on a table, she wore some sort of a bathrobe and she took it off, just like you did in my dream, there are no hidden messages, it is just what it is.

I should be in bed, I'll be sleepy all day long.

I was sitting there in a comfortable chair

I walked out from this dream in which I was simultaneously a PhD student and a young professor teaching a Neuroscience course, the classroom was a big auditorium at the School of Medicine, we were more than 200 students and the place was barely enough for so many students. As a student for some reason I was late and I had to sit between a couple of men in a pretty awkward position. I felt suffocated and anxious and irresponsible. Like if that were not my place in the world.

Dunno why but I had no notebook but a Telecaster. It must have been 9 or 10 o'clock, the auditorium and the students reminded me of my first days as a PhD student in a Neurochemistry course in an auditorium at the Institute of Cellular Physiology, it was humid and hot, just like the weather between summer and autumn. At times, the place also seemed a fancy party hall.

As I felt awkward in this seat between a couple of men, I saw myself in front of the audience, as a professor. I was not exactly myself, but I knew I was the professor, it was some sort of a weird doppelganger. I saw myself as an enthusiastic professor, I looked like this guy performing Matthew Kimble, the brother of the main character of The new adventures of old Christine, maybe he appeared in my dream 'cause I recently saw him on Fargo, his real name is Hamish Linklater, but in my dream he was me and he was not an actor but a neuroscientist, and he was pretty young. He had a few tics, he constantly stuck out his tongue while he spoke and ran his tongue over his upper lips, he looked natural and enthusiastic. He had long, somewhat curly hair. His hair was so pretty. He was wearing a blue long-sleeved Benetton shirt, quite similar to the one I have. I kinda sensed that girls adored him, each time he spoke and ran his tongue over his upper lips and kept sort of freezed for a second or two, looking into infinity, perhaps organizing his thoughts, girls sort of murmured and sighed. The situation was funny, it didn't seem a PhD course, but a bachelor's degree course.

Hamish-myself walked in front of the blackboard with great confidence, and he spoke about the brain and how we have brain circuits for building a pencil and also a spaceship, but he really only touched these topics superficially. He looked pretty happy. He really seemed to enjoy his job.

Somehow, he took us to a place in which neuroscience seemed so cool and important, but, as I mentioned, he only touched these topics superficially. Nonetheless, the audience looked satisfied. At a point, he gave us a brief recess in which he took a marmalade sandwich or something like that, he said he hadn't had breakfast. Suddenly Hamish neuroscientist was sitting next to me, the couple of men had disappeared, and he smiled at me and winked, like if he knew we were the same person. One girl or two approached us and asked him if he'd ever play guitar just for fun, maybe at the end of the course. Then I realized Hamish had told the students he also play electric guitar and I thought of my Telecaster and wanted so hard to play a song.

I'm listening to this White Stripes album, I read somewhere that it was released 20 years ago and I think of you, the phone calls we had 20 years ago, when I had just bought Get Behind Me Satan and was so obsessed with you and dreaming about you while listening to this album. Did you remember me and saw me as I saw myself in this dream?

The sky is cotton candy

You appeared out of nowhere. In my dream I knew you, I knew your name, you were a student, and I was looking for something in a box, the box looked more like a wooden chair than a box and it was painted in blue. The wooden chair was placed at the desk, the desk was some sort of operating room. I was pretty focused in this sort of mental surgery.

We were inside a classroom, it was cold and pale. Lights were the kind of dim lights you'd find in an operating room. The day was so cold and cloudy. It was the end of a class. Students were leaving the classroom.

Accidentally I found a letter inside the box, and it was a letter from you, I knew your name, I pronounced it in my dream, our eyes met for a moment, you smiled. The letter was written on a white sheet of paper, had some paintings and a cryptic message, it looked like the artwork for Incesticide, Nirvana's B-sides album published in 1992, and the message implied that you were in love with me. 

I woke up and I don't know who you are. I forgot your name. This song hits my brain.

«I got my diddly spayed!»

«I got my diddly spayed!»

«I got my diddly spayed!»

Before going to bed I came to the studio, the cats knocked some things out of the closet and I picked them up and the situation reminded me of an Incesticide T-shirt I own. It's really nice, but I hardly ever wear it, it's too big for me. But the dream is not about a T-shirt. Or about you. You could be anyone. 

Maybe it's not that at all. 

Maybe it's that I'm getting old and it's about me returning to this elite university where it all began. Maybe it's that I'll find students like I did back in 2004 but I'll be older and I'll be mentally sterile.

Pull my brain stem out and unplug myself

I just walked out from a dream, it's 6: 30 am, I just cut myself in two, I cleaned up the vomit from the cats, they ate some sort of purgatory herb, 151 mg/dl of glucose, the day seems too cloudy, pretty closer to those yesterdays, when I was naive and had achieved nothing in academia, it's 6: 30 am, I'm listening to Rollins Band, Henry Rollins screams out something that sounds aggressive and painful, but I cannot stop thinking about what I dreamed.

We were together in some sort of auditorium, you were at my left, your sister was at my right, we were about to hear a lecture, maybe a false prophet of science, you were sad and cozy, with your big dark brown eyes, with those enormous Margaret Keane painting eyes, suddenly you started to touch my hand, I felt sort of excited, my mind started to fly away, then you started to touch your sister's hand, it was cozy. The audience was not aware of our existence, we were lost in the second or third row of seats.

In a moment you were touching my chest and then my abdomen and then you were caressing my crotch in a very slow and seductive way, you didn't stop looking at me, and I couldn't believe it, my mind started to fly away, I knew everything was possible between us, sooner or later, I would see you as I had always wanted to see you, since I saw you walking and wearing those tight-fitting leggings, when I was naive and had achieved nothing in academia and you lived for a period with your sister and me, it's 6: 30 am.

You kept caressing me, you did something that made feel about to explode, you kept looking at me, you told me something like: 

«What was that? It seems you really liked what I did! I liked it too...» 

My mind started to fly away, I knew everything was possible between us, sooner or later, I would see you as I had always wanted to see you, since I saw your crazy underwear when you lived for a period with your sister and me, everything was possible, I would see you sooner or later down on your knees, like that dream I had once, when the world was apocalyptic and we stared thru the window how a building collapsed in the early hours of a weekend, we were sort of drunk and we just had fucked it all, we had had a crazy night and had ruined everything for a few wild minutes of pleasure. 

estrella de miel tan beautiful

I'm drunk, I've heard the echoes of your loneliness and I've inhaled the signature of your hair, I'm drunk on you, I've seen your new nose and I'm in love with it, it really fits you, it resembles your original nose but it's better than your original nose, it really fits you, and I no longer want to think why you had cosmetic surgery. 

While we spoke about nothing and the apocalyptic sun was hiding behind the clouds of this sandy sky, two days ago, upon arriving in Monterrey, I just wanted to be so close to you, dunno why but I have a feeling we could have been friends in another time, maybe if we had known each other decades ago. So, as the van crossed the city and drove us from the airport to the Safi hotel, I just wanted to be free, to have a smoke with you, to drink a bottle of wine with you.

Now I'm drunk on your nose, on your loneliness, on your hair, on your moves, on your eyes. 

I'm feverish, lying in the bed of this room, 890 km away from home, closing my eyes, in the dark, thinking of you, trying to dream of you, in my dream we're here, in this bed, earlier you looked at me, you were on your knees, and I couldn't believe it, it was finally happening.  

Cuts You Up

It must have been April, 2007. I was listening this song of Peter Murphy. His voice and his music, thru my headphones, screamed strange memories of things that I didn’t live. Suddenly, you appeared and we started to talk about nothing. We were in the middle of an almost empty Ciudad Universitaria, between Torre de Humanidades and Las Islas, it must have been Semana Santa. You were no longer my pupil. The course of Sensation & Perception was over. It had been my first experience at UNAM as Subject Teacher, with a crappy temporary contract with a very low salary and a few hours of classes. I’d enjoyed it, but I was convinced that it could have been a better course. 

Dunno how but at the end of the course you had started to send me emails. I suppose you wanted to know how was it like to be a young academic. Also, you were sort of naive, maybe you saw me as a role model, or something like that. Then you asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, there we're not really nice movies to watch, except a movie of the tragic death of Princess Diana and another low-budget horror movie in which the main character was a guy in his twenties. We moved to the movie theatre, we continued talking about nothing, I was heartbroken, I'd been in love with a girl, the classic story: she’d rejected me, her ex had recently appeared, she didn't want to know nothing about me, I was obsessed with her, they were so happy together. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And I told you so, and you didn't care and we sort of kissed later, in the middle of that horror movie, and we ate popcorns, and it was weird, I felt like I was kissing someone of my own family. Didn't like it. We never met again. This happened almost twenty years ago, but it seems it was yesterday. I wonder what kind of guy you think I am. I hope you’re doing well.

Antes de tres lunas volveré a por ti

Last night I was feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, before going to bed I'd eaten a bag of very greasy potato chips. I was watching a movie. I'd seen it before, but just finished reading the book in which it's based on this week. While Tom Waits as Renfield was eating a couple of bugs and I sort of pictured myself acting in the same character as him if someone had asked me to, suddenly I thought of you. 

Perhaps I'd checked my Instagram open account earlier and your profile appeared as “suggested for you”.

At a first glance, I did not recognize you. Dunno remember when was the last time I saw you, I just know it must have been on September, at the end of an Interdisciplinary Project class. There you told me that you were going to Poland, or something like that, on an academic mobility stay. You told me that you couldn't take the last part of the course and you asked me if it was OK for me. So much time has passed since then. I've been out of college for almost half a year, I started writing a MS, the MS was published a week ago in Pharmaceuticals, I've been surviving, I got sick...

In my dream I was walking thru the alleys of a weird high school, it looked like the typical high school I've seen in movies. It was a sunny day, I had a stomach ache, I wanted to threw up. Somehow I saw you in a bathroom, it was really dirty and it made me sick. You said “Hi” and smiled. Although I was feeling so bad, your presence sort of woke me up. Then I walked out of the bathroom and into a classroom and I felt so powerful as if I were a Roman emperor. 

I just woke up a few minutes ago, and I cannot stop thinking of this song by Mikel Erentxun.

I'm Disconnected By Your Smile

The aeroplane stops over the sea, I can hear the roar of the engine, it seems it's gonna crash, I feel so excited, I sense the end of my world, the end of all my frustrations and my rage, and I cannot stop thinking about a fatal accident, the sea is so close, I know I can die, I feel so excited.

Out of nowhere, I remember that Smashing Pumpkins' song, that song I used to listen to when I was such a moron, when I was in my first year of Psychology, when I really didn't want to study Psychology, when I just wanted to become a beatnik... 

I close my eyes. I see myself back then singing in my mind...

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

... and I remember myself feeling so heartbroken for this girl, Lily, the one I loved back then, she was older than me, she was everything I wanted, she seemed so mature, she was so enigmatic, so distant, so smart, so cold, she looked like Cecilia Suárez, she was my everything, and one day at school I spoke to her and we sort of started a relationship, I asked her for her telephone number, we started talking about The Beatles, she was a big fan of The Beatles, and I called her sometimes on the telephone, and then somehow she became interested on me, and then she started calling me on the phone, and we spoked many many times thru the night until the dawn, and then two months later or so she quit school and we became some sort of girlfriend and boyfriend, she was sort of dating a guy older than her and she told me that she was confused, he was a dancer, and then one day after school I went to her apartment, she lived so close to the school with a couple of roomies, and it was so fantastic, I felt so excited, we ate pizza and we drew as we spoked about Van Gogh and Monet, and then we sort of freezed for a moment –we were alone, her roomies were at school–, and I remembered one of our recent calls on the telephone. She had told me What would you think of me, if I told you that I have a boyfriend and that I want to kiss him and that I want to practice with you? and it was so clear that it was gonna happen, and then I looked at her, I hadn't ever felt so connected to anyone in my entire (brief) life, and I took her beautiful hands and I kissed her and it was so silly, I felt we were some sort of robots or sister and brother or something like that, but the entire situation was so great. I felt my dreams had come true, I couldn't believe it. Then she went to live to the beach. She was a dancer. We used to write, she sent me tons of letters. I sent her tons of letters. We saw each other again years later, she was pregnant, she loved someone else, I'd had a girlfriend, an amazing relationship that turned so toxic, we had broke up recently, I was about to start my PhD, we were the same but we were not the same. 

In my dream I look at the sea thru the window, the night is so dark, I think of that Beatles' song.

Bright are the stars that shine

Dark is the sky

I know this love of mine

Will never die

And I just know that I am in danger, that I can die, and I start to record everything on my cellphone. 

Then I wake up from this dream but I am still dreaming –I am still on the plane next to the window– and I have a blackout, like if I'm so drunk that I cannot remember anything. I looked at the window again. The plane is still flying over the sea, the night is so dark, the water is so clear that I can see some dolphins and algae, and then I realized I do not know where my cellphone is. I feel so attached to my cellphone, my cellphone (in my dream) is some sort of Lily, my cellphone is my everything, and then I started looking for my cellphone here and there, and I feel so desperate, but somehow we just landed and people start to getting off the plane and I see a cellphone on the floor and I know it is not mine, but I feel that I am not alone, that someone else has lost his cellphone, too, and this is a metaphor of my life. I'm not talking about cellphones and airplanes –my life is like being on a plane about to crash–, I'm talking about your cellphone, the one you were checking at when I saw you yesterday at the dining room, the one you left for a moment on the table when you got up from your seat.

I pound on the computer keyboard. I think of myself at the dining room, yesterday. 

Dawn is breaking, my wife and my cats are still dreaming, I am listening to this song and I cannot stop thinking about your smile.

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile 

And I don't know what's going on. And I don't want to think about it. I know this isn't real. I sort of sense that you're not real. I don't want to think about your smile, but I must admit that this song has taken on a whole new meaning. What's wrong with me?, I am just this moron...? Are you acting or are you as lonely as me...?

Let's Do Something Crazy, Absolutely Wrong

You were there, it was real. You didn't know I had been daydreaming of you, in the fog of my thoughts. I had been sick for almost a couple of weeks. Then when you asked me on the phone if I wanted to join you at the dining room, I thought “Ok”. And then we talked for half an hour or so. You spoke a lot, I told you a few things. Basically I told you how sad and frustrating it is to be like me. Like having this big desire of writing, a thousand ideas filling my brain like bees inside a swarm looking for air, and then to make a thousand mistakes while beating up the wrong letter in the computer keyboard. Basically I told you how bittersweet it is to be who I am. You know. I am experienced, I love my job, but I should have an opportunity to stop looking for temporary contracts. You know, I've been looking for opportunities my entire life. Ten years ago I was having my PhD dissertation, so far I have almost 20 published papers, ten years of teaching experience, I am National Researcher Level II. And in the near future there are no opportunities for me to stop looking for temporary contracts. These kind of contracts give me the opportunity to teach, but they're so short –from 3 to 6 months– and I can't perform my own research. Besides, they will not last forever. 

Of course I told you these things differently, not as I am writing of them right now. I am tired, Saturday morning is about to come. As I am waiting for the miracle to come, as Leonard Cohen whispers thru the headphones. I am asleep. It's 6: 30 am. And I've been wasting my waking time for almost an hour. 

As we spoke a couple of days ago in the dining room, I felt you were interested in my talk. It was weird. For times I remembered the way I had been daydreaming of you, when I was sick, in the fog of my thoughts. Sunlight irradiated your face. I hadn't seen the color of your eyes, neither the color of your hair. But sunlight made them look so warm. And you smiled all the time, and I couldn't stop telling myself that I was an animal, that I couldn't stop thinking that I would make it with you, that I would like to discover what kind of woman are you. Then you told me that you cried in a meeting. That you felt awful and silly. Then we talked about diseases.

I felt you sort of admired me. And I sort of remembered how it was our first meeting, 3 years ago. Then I was so sick of being some sort of academic outsider. I had 3 years working in the same university, but I was stuck. It was not the best time of my life. Then you appeared out of nowhere and you walked beside me and you ignored me. I saw you were so tall and I thought you were sort of conceited. I sort of hated you. 

Sunlight irradiated you face. You spoke about a couple of students that told our Department Head that they didn't like you. That they were not the biggest fans of psychoanalysis. I told you I understood your point. I told you about my own experience with a few students in the Covid-19 pandemic. When Zoom was the only way we could teach classes. When I had no recess, when I worked from 8 am to 10 pm on a daily basis, when students were some sort of ghosts behind the closed cameras of Zoom. 

I need go back to sleep. I have a terrible headache. I am tired. I am listening to Leonard Cohen, in particular this song I used to associate with an ex, but now I know I will associate it with you. I will remember this meeting we had a couple of days ago in the dining room of the university, as students walked and talked and ate around us. I wonder what did they think about us. I will remember how you behaved. The way in which you seemed to admire me. I don't know your age, I just kinda sensed that you're younger than me by the way you hear me and look at me, and I also kinda feel that I'm at this age in which people like you seem to know that I am not nobody. I don't know if I am being clear enough. I sense that people like you look at me as an experienced guy. Like if I were in an 'interesting age'. That I know something. That, if I wanted to, I could make it happen, that I could make it with you, that, ironically, I could make the biggest business of my life.

But I am just waiting for the miracle to come, as Leonard whispers thru the headphones. 

Look At Your Game, Girl

It could've been in November 1994. I just had bought the cassette. I put it in the recorder of the Jetta. Dunno exactly why or who, but John & Yoko were looking for someone in the streets, and they had left us inside the car. Ringo and George were making some silly jokes, or so. Probably they were excited for the video game they'd just bought. Probably it was another one of the style of that Flintstone's video game they'd played for entire weeks in the summer. 

In the same store they'd bought the video game, I'd bought The Spaghetti Incident?, the eight or nine cassette I'd bought in the same store in the last months. I was crazy about Guns N' Roses. I'd heard them for the first time in the last summer. On TV, they frequently showed the videos of “Estranged”, “The Garden”, “Live And Let Die”, “Don't Cry”, “November Rain” and “Since I Don't Have You”. I was almost 14 years old, a nobody, a teenager, and 'the most dangerous band in the world' blew my mind.

With their fifth studio album in my hands, I had their entire discography –in record time!, two-three months!

It was cold, dark and windy. 

Slash's guitar riff came out from the tiny music speakers of the Jetta. It gave me the chills. 

Dunno knew anything about the album or that song in particular. 

As the song progressed and my brothers made silly jokes, I just watched the photographs and read the lines in the booklet of the cassette. They were photos of the awesome logo of the band, of Duff, of Slash, of Matt... of the famous Axl's white & red Converse... and a sentence: 

A great song can be found anywhere. Do yourself a favor and go find out the originals.

Or something like that.

Then, after drums and bass and some sort of weird synthesizer's sounds, Axl's voice appeared. It sounded so soft, so warm and so sad. A thousand miles different from the ferocious screams of “Welcome To The Jungle”. 

The song made me think of 60's rock n' roll, and I liked it. The next song was a lot more punk rock. I guessed it was from the early 70's, or so. 

It was titled “New Rose” and it started with a little bit to understand words of Duff McKagan. Milliseconds later appeared the drums and then the guitar. Duff sang that awesome song. 

I was so excited! I was about to discover some old cool songs! 

Then John & Yoko got back to the car. 

John looked at me, he sighed, smiled and lowered down the volume of the cassette recorder. Then he turn on the Jetta's engine machine and drove us home. I took back the cassette from the recorder and put it in my walkman –I carried it everywhere– and then I put on my headphones and listened to the album all the way back home.

I should have heard it a thousand times.

Now, almost 30 years later from that first-time experience –the album was released on November 23, 1993–, I am listening The Spaghetti Incident?, again. And, again, I have headphones on. And I would like to write about many things –the origin of the album's title, the addiction issues of Steven Adler, how fun it is to play Slash's guitar riff of the Skyliners' song, how fun it is to play “New Rose” on guitar, how weird and cool and creepy it is to listen to the hidden track with that Charles Manson' song at the end of the album–, but I can't get you out of my mind. 

I got the flu and I am a little bit tired. For two-three days, I hadn't been able to sleep, but I finally could, and I woke up from this dream In which YOU appeared. It was so intense that it pulled me out of bed.

Then I wanted to read but I turn on the Mac, started to write in this blog –my wife & cats are asleep– and put The Spaghetti Incident? on Amazon Music –I miss so much those times in which we were not forced to pay any rent per month to streaming platforms– and put my headphones on, and, as music and words and hours elapsed, I couldn't get you out of my head. 

In my dream, we were so young and we were inside a bus. It was a sunny day. As the bus moved thru the streets, I couldn't stop looking at you. You were enigmatic and beautiful. Perhaps you were some sort of Frankenstein of all the women I have felt attracted to. Also, there was some sort of chemistry between us. I wanted so bad to ask you out. Our eyes met, and finally I asked you out. You smiled and I felt so attracted to you. You said Yes!, and, in an old-fashioned love movie style, we got closer and closer, seconds were like eons, and then we kissed. 

It was so intense! It seemed so real! It was so vivid!

I even have the feeling that my chemical senses are overloaded.

It is cold, dark and windy. I woke up like an hour ago, but I'm still some sort of dizzy.

Dunno know who you are. Nor why did you appear in my dream. But you made me feel I was 14 years old again.

I Dreamed I Dream

I am almost done. I can't breathe. My entire body is electrifying, but in a real bad sense, not in the way you feel electrified when you're in love or when you're drunk.

I've been like this for an entire week. 

I can't sleep. I'm tired.

Suddenly, drugs knock me out and I fly above my own painful consciousness, and you appear out of nowhere in a dream. 

I see you in the shadows, a few meters away from me. You wear a white dress and you smile and you touch your hair in a very shy way. You want to make eye contact with me, but I refuse to do so. Somehow, I still feel angst. I am annoyed. Somehow, I still remember our last fight. And I cannot get out of my head your attitude. 

Have you thought about me, or is it just me?

Seems To Me Time Was, Little Bit As Complicated Then

«Yes, it's him», she said. And she was sitting in her chair, in front of her computer, in the office that both of you shared at that time, a thousand years ago, before the storm, before the earthquake, before the apocalypse..., when you were ill and tired of dealing with your health issues. 

She looked at you, and you listened up and you thought what kind of life was her life, and what kind of life was your life. You really hated your life. Everyday was an inner war for you. And she used to be happy, her husband was still alive and they were a pretty happy couple, and she was smart, strong and absolutely amazing at his job.

And her eyes were like almonds and her face was white and pink, and her hair was long and it had a strange shiny color, between black and brown. You sort of had a crush on her. While she spoke –«Yes, it's him»–, you couldn't stop feeling attracted to her lips, and you wanted to kiss them and to devour her tongue, and you desired to touch her face and her hair, and to hold her hands –to loss your mind in the brief glimpse of her nails–, and to look at her almond eyes forever.

She referred to another researcher and one of the undergrads of this researcher. Three or four antibodies had been lost and the lab had run out of budget. 

Suddenly, she shut up. This researcher entered the office. And it was awkward. 

And this happened a thousand years ago, but you remember it right now 'cause she appeared out of nowhere in your dream. You were inside a van, someone drove you up to an academic event. Apparently, both of you had been invited to give a conference. You didn't know what the hell would you speak about, but you didn't care.

She had a guitar and she said that she admired Izzy Stradlin, and you started to teach her how to play “Seems To Me”, her guitar was not a left-handed guitar, so it was not easy for you.

Then she said that Izzy was the brain of Guns N' Roses, and you felt so impressed. You agreed with her, and you felt so happy. At last, both of you had something in common!

And it is Saturday, and it's Izzy's birthday and it's also the 29th anniversary of the discovery of Kurt Cobain's corpse in the Green House of his mansion in Lake Washington, and you don't know why did she appear in your dream. And you write about it. 

And you are a moron and you wait for her to read what you just wrote in this blog.

 

Since I was born I started to decay

Dunno why but I still remember when you called me up on the telephone last afternoon, I needed to ask you a favor, and I dunno why but I also still remember what I just dreamed a couple of hours ago... Maybe I'm just thrilled 'cause I got in touch with you. 

Whatever. 

I remember how that dream was so scary and how I was so brokenhearted. 

Vividly.

In my dream, this guy –with whom I should have a published paper in Nature Neuroscience– appeared out of nowhere. We were walking across empty and cold German streets, and then we got into a supermarket and then we left the supermarket and then we got into an old building, and so on, and then the dream became some sort of a Matryoshka-like story, like those of Christopher Nolan's, but this is not relevant. 

The most relevant thing is that you... You were spying on me.

I can't explain just why I knew it, but I knew it. 

I felt your presence behind my steps, like a ghost, like a shadow, like the wind.

Then, in a moment, I saw your reflection in a window. It was electrifying. I got shocked. Freezed. Dumbfounded.

I must have been sixteen years old, or so. My own reflection was younger, and I felt so weak and had no confidence in myself. As always happened when I was sixteen. 

What's all this fuzz about...? Are we running...? 

Are we hiding...?

I Preferred Her To Any Other Marijuana

I'm working in this nightmare lab, again, and I dunno why still I'm frightened and attached to it. I hear voices from my ex advisor's office. It seems he's interviewing someone and having a good time. He laughs, and I think “what's goin' on? 90% of the time, from Monday to Friday, I'm the only one in the lab, he always seems unsatisfied with my work, I have published four papers as first author, I never skip none of the seminars in the lab... and he doesn't even says Hi when I say Hi”

Suddenly I don't give a f$ck and I leave the lab. I'm determined to never come back.

Then I sense someone walks behind me. Kinda see her face and her body. 

It all happens as in a movie. 

She's NN, a woman whom I felt attracted to when we were in elementary school, a thousand years ago. Obviously, she's now a woman, not a girl. 

She's all dressed in black and she kinda wants to make eye contact with me, so, at some point, it is impossible to get rid off her eyes, and I look at her, directly to the eyes. She smiles. Her lips are enormous. I cannot stop thinking about a paragraph of The naked ape, one in which Lorenz states a relationship between the size of the lips and the size of the vagina. And it is somehow scary.

Suddenly we're having some sort of picnic, between Las Islas and El Paseo de las Facultades. It is a sunny afternoon. She's having tamales. They look warm and nauseating. She says something about tamales and the way they seem a warm vagina. As she says 'vagina', she emphasizes 'vagina' and gives me a strange look. Again, she smiles.

I tell her I don't like tamales, that I eat them once in a year, and I'm about to tell her that my family has a weird tradition, that they have bought tamales in each each funeral I can think of, when she kisses me.

Her saliva is magnetic, strong and hypnotic. I feel like a bee attracted to a beeswax. 

Then I kiss her and I do it remembering the boy I was in elementary school, the one who believed she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Somehow I am on top of her and I can see her face in a very detailed way. Her eyebrows are weird. It seems she just came out from the beauty salon. And, again, I look at her lips and think about what Konrad Lorenz said about lips and vaginas in his book.

NN smiles again and I feel weak and strong and happy and sad, all at the same time, and I want to get laid with her, and I tell her, and she says “Great! Let's do it!”

Then I wake up. 

It Is The Real Thing

I thought we were friends, and now I see that it was more a fantasy than a real thing. I met you a decade ago, or so, and we kept in touch for so many years on Facebook –I don't even remember when was the last time I saw you, but it was probably around 2008, when I got married and invited you to my wedding–, and a few months ago I even tried to make a deal with you –a podcast–, but you said that you were pretty busy –at that time I worked on awful conditions, teaching classes from 1 pm to 6 pm on a daily basis, among other duties– and I just found it arrogant. 

You have changed, you are so radical now. You act like all men are idiots. You confirmed the stereotype I have about writers: they act like if their readers –the rest of the world– are the dumbest humans on Earth. The writers I talk about don't care about nothing but themselves. 

So disappointing.

Strange Days Have Tracked Us Down

I dreamed of you weeks ago. It was a sunny day. It was hot. You wore a blouse and a skirt. The heat was melting me and I thought that it would be awesome to wear skirt sometimes, like Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain did in the 90's. We had a meeting in a classroom and we were so closed together. Behind your mask, I could perceive your smile. It shined like a gigantic free spirit. The light of the classroom also made you look like an older woman and covered your face with freckles. Your ear rings also shined. They moved along your face as you spoke and smiled behind your mask. 

As we spoke about nothing, I did not want to focus on your legs, but it was almost an impossible mission. I sensed them with all my skin senses, like a warm touch in the eyes, like a colorful cut in the retinas. You know, some of the photos you share on Facebook in real life, in which you wear skirts also, are almost impossible to ignore. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs since I was a kid. When I first felt attracted to women, legs were like a crazy magnet. And since then I'm such an animal and an idiot. I don't want to be misunderstood: I respect women, I admire women and I think women are the most valuable living being on Earth. 

Dunno why I cannot control myself. Am I ill? 

In your photos you look like an innocent mom, you look so happy with your baby daughter, you look so happy with your husband. And it just seems you're so real. And I really like the way you are with your family and with your friends. I haven't ever seen you mad or angst. It is so admirable. 

In the dream, it was also almost an impossible mission to ignore your legs. And, as I write these lines, I truly feel bad about it. I know I am just an animal. No matter how much gray matter do I have, no matter how much I try to use my brain: I am a simple man with simple ideas and simple wishes... and dark thoughts. This photo I had seen on your Facebook in real life, had suddenly appeared in another dream and then inside another dream, and so when I had this dream I write about it, I was suddenly scared of the intensity and the power of an image unconsciously trapped in my mind. I wasn't aware of the photo, until I dreamed of it for the first time. And it left me dumbfounded and thinking of your legs. 

Everything was so intense in the dream. Suddenly you shined like a gigantic raising sun. When I picked up the pieces in which your legs were the main character of all of my dreams, I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend. We were in junior high school and she was younger than me. We met under strange conditions and there were rumors about her cheating on me, but I just kind of believed she was innocent and I accepted it. She sort of hypnotized me. She was so seductive and played to be innocent. 

As I write these lines, my cats are running like wild horses and they ask me to feed them. They made me feel that this is stupid. They sort of tell me “Hey, man, stop writing non sense things about your dreams; come on, wake up and feed us!” But I need to write. Nowadays it is a bit difficult to have some kind of inspiration and time to write. I am studying and teaching and working on bureaucratic stuff all the time. 

So in my dream I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend and it was a perfect excuse to look briefly to your legs. Immediately, as I took a look, like a deep breath before diving in, I felt irradiated by the energy of your legs and I felt I was a stupid hypnotized animal. And so here I am again. I dreamed of you again. As I wake up I realized we were closed together again. And that you sort of hypnotized me and made me realized you felt the same way I feel about your legs. And you made me realized you knew how I felt about your legs. In this recurrent dream you wear a blouse and a skirt and you smile and your smile shines like a gigantic free spirit, like a wild horse. And my heart is so crazy about it and I sense everything is possible. It is scary. It is a nightmare. And I feel bad about it. I am a stupid hypnotized animal. I feel guilty. I cannot control my dreams. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs. I'm such an animal and an idiot. Dunno why I cannot control myself. 

I'm So Excited, I Can't Wait To Meet You There

As the quietly room is occupied by cats and sunlight and street sounds and wildlife, I start to forget you. Before the soft and blue substance of these thoughts vanished, I will make my best to maintain you on this secret spot I have been building for the last decade. 

I just can't ignore this calm that invades me. I just can't ignore this atmosphere. It smells like freshly washed sheets and it evokes several cozy ideas on me. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager. It makes me close my eyelids and to travel miles away from my real life.

I almost see myself from my inside.

We are in 1999. 

I'm walking to the swimming pool. 
My parents decided to bring us to these cabins in Cuernavaca.
It's the first time we spend a weekend in this place. 
I can't tell how they find it out, but it's a nice place. 

There are soccer fields and basketball and tennis courts. 
There are twenty or thirty cabins, next to a forest.
There is also a restaurant.  

A few hours ago, we played a soccer game with some tourists. 
We were giving them up a ridiculous beating. 
They were so stupid to play soccer. Most of them were fat and clumsy. 
A moron didn't tolerate the humiliation. He hit the soccer ball so hard that it made my dad bled. I hated him. I'm thinking on revenge.   

I've been also playing tennis with one of my brothers. 
I didn't remember how much I enjoy to play tennis. I even used to watch tennis matches on TV when I was a kid, instead of watching cartoons. I guess female tennis players attracted me. I loved the way the air made their skirts flew thru the court as they ran to hit the ball with the racket. I also loved the shapes of their firm legs. It also surprised me that women seemed fragile and quiet, but they could be so strong and they could scream violently. 

I'm thinking that I barely have the opportunity to play tennis. I think it sucks. 

I'm kind of pissed off. I would have preferred to stay home. 
I have realized that I just find it awkward to be surrounded by my family. 
It's not like our last holidays. We even brought our small nephew with us. He's four years old and seems to be the only really happy one. 

I love my family, but I just don't feel OK. 
I'm just a teenager, pretending to act like an adult. 

The university is on a strike since April. It is a disaster. The last time I went to see how it was goin' –some of my classmates and a few hundred other students, are “taking care” of the facilities–, the School of Psychology was a hotel and the Central Library was a dinning room. The entire Ciudad Universitaria was a dump surrounded by cyclonic mesh. 

It was so creepy. 

Nobody knows it, but it's a pretty stressful situation for me. I'm lost. I'm worried. I'm depressed. The only thing I do, is to be a student. I'm such a coward. 

Why haven't I just looked for a job, to keep my mind busy...? 

I've been obsessively thinking on the uncertainty of my academic future. 
I've been supposedly reinforcing my History of Psychology lessons, but, to be honest, I just cannot tell you about a single topic. I have had difficulties to learn. 

I also have been reading Dante Alighieri's most famous book and I just have had difficulties to enjoy it. I've been daydreaming with my own Beatrice and I've been suffering my own private hell. 

What would happen if I dared to give a 180° turn to my life...?

I could work on Mix up, I could work as a waiter on a coffee shop, if I really wanted to. 
I'm so apathetic. I'm so pathetic. I just can't quit my comfort zone. 

Besides daydreaming with the sudden appearance of my own Beatrice, I read 19th century writers, I write 19th century like-poems and weep and complain.  

The sun rays irradiate my childish body as I walk to the swimming pool.  

“I'm so excited, 

I can't wait to meet you there...”

sings Kurt Cobain inside my head, as my heart beats so hard. 

Though it is the calm part of the song, I'm sure that my heart sounds louder than Dave Grohl's drums and that Kurt Cobain's Jaguar on the noisy part of the song. 

My most precious treasures are an old Aiwa walkman, my headphones and my small collection of cassettes. This time, obviously, I'm listening Lithium. 

Music is so important to me. Nirvana has accompanied me since I started senior high school. It has been sort of a cursed. I am stuck in the past. I know I should listen to different genres and to listen different bands (alive ones?), but even though I have tried, it just hasn't work. 

I've been trying to listening No Code, too. I can't tell exactly why there is something about Eddie Vedder I dislike. This album seems so 1995. 
  
I have a crush. I'm almost sure that I will find you in the swimming pool, like I did the first time I saw you. I'm really excited. 

Suddenly, my legs start to shake.  

Though I don't even remember your face, I feel so enthusiastic about seeing you again.

A few days later, I watched a soccer game on TV. 
Our national team won its most relevant tournament so far. 
The Mexican players beat up Brazil in an exciting game. A young player named Ronaldinho was on the field. TV commentators said he was the next star of Brazilian soccer. He's nineteen years old, or so. 

At the time of the game, it was raining. It had been a hot day. 
At a moment, before the soccer game, I was so bored that I went to swim.

And then I saw you.  

You had a black swimwear. Your natural way of behaving left me breathless. 
You looked so gorgeous. Your brown long hair floated on the water like a living miracle defying the laws of gravity. I would like to write an elaborated thought about each component of your beauty, but I would be a liar. I have to admit it. I couldn't ignore your breasts. They made me feel weak and strong at the same time. 

Immediately, I dove into the water to hide my excitement.
I sort of swim to get close to you. You were swimming, too. 

At a moment, as we stopped swimming, we made eye contact. 
It could be for a second, but it felt like eternity. 

I believed you smiled and waited for me to speak to you.
I sensed it, in the very same way I sensed it in those girls in junior high school I kissed. 

Despite all our efforts to make it clear that we own a neocortex, we're still mammals. 
Our brain has evolved, but we still need water and food, to survive. Our brain has evolved, but we still need sex to perpetuate our specie. Our brain has evolved, but we still have to cut it off when we're starved, no matter if we have to interrupt our most sophisticated cognitive abilities. Hormones, olfaction and sight remind us that we are still animals. It's hard to be exempt from our nature.  

Of course, I didn't speak to you. 
 
                              

Though I barely saw you then, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I have felt like a confused young, like I think of Marcel Proust when he wrote how he idealized mysterious women on his vacations on Balbec. 

(In fact, as I am pounding the keyboard and trying to capture you on this secret spot, I see myself as the main character of In the shadow of young girls in flower.)

Since that hot day, your presence has been haunting me. 

I closed my eyelids this morning, while I was in the shower. 
I had impure thoughts about you. I also thought about your eyes and your beautiful hair floating in the swimming pool. Yesterday, as I fell asleep, I started to have hypnagogic hallucinations on which you allowed me to watch your naked breasts behind that black swimwear. It was so exciting. The images left me breathless. For a second, as I woke up, I had no reasons to consider that dreams aren't better than life. 

I finally arrive to the swimming pool. 
I sit in a chair, a few steps from the water.
I sense on my face the reflection of the summer sun diving into the water.  
My lungs are penetrated by the singular smell of chlorine. 
I'm so happy. 

I turn on the volume of the walkman. I focus on Kurt Cobain's voice. I focus on Dave Grohl's cymbals and snare drum. I focus on Krist Novoselic's bass. 

I take a deep breath. 
I look for you. 

There you are. 

Lithium

Whisper Secrets For Me

We spoke on the phone, two days ago. 

Though I pretended to pointed out that it was exclusively an academic call, honestly I just wanted to hear your voice. 

I wanted to tell you that I care about you, but I didn't. 
I am not sure if you would find it awkward. I understand that you don't care about it. I understand that you don't want to know a single thing about the world. 

You told me that you were carrying out a procedure for your daughter to obtain your husband's pension, and that it was so damn difficult. I didn't know what to say. I just remembered when I first met your husband and when I first saw your daughter. It was scary and I stopped thinking about it. I just can't imagine how painful is it to be you. 

I couldn't survive if I were in your situation. I wouldn't be able to handle such a situation. It would kill me, if my wife was dead. 

I would have liked to tell you that I really care about you, but, as usual, I felt somehow rejected, and, as the conversation progressed, I became nervous and I started to think which words I wanted to say to you and I became the very same idiot guy I have always been when I try to speak with you. 

It's a sickening personality complex. I suppose my interest in us to be friends makes me act like that. It reminds me of a friend I used to have when I was eighteen years old. It was a weird relationship. She was older than me and she really behaved like an older person. Her personality attracted me so wildly. I met her in one of my first classes at the university. I started to idealize her and I spoke to her after school.

She was so nice and we talked about The Beatles and about literature. She obviously had read many more authors than me. She had an interesting and funny conversation. 
She was pretty smart and she was a professional dancer. She had health issues. She was anemic and depressive. Her dad died when she was a girl. Her life was such a mistery for me.

We started to talk on the telephone. We talked and talked by entire nights. We had fun. We had a weird relationship. Eventually, we became more than friends, or so we tried. It started on the phone. On the previous days –we used to spoke twice per week–, I told her that I liked her so much, that she was so perfect and that I wanted to see her. At the time, she had another friend. He was older than us and, apparently, he was a professional dancer, too. He was a mature man. I was just a teenager. 

She was thinking about us for an entire weekend and then she called me and she told me that she also wanted to have a sentimental relationship with me. I was so damn happy. I guess I hadn't been as happy as I was then, before. Lily was all I ever wanted and I just couldn't believe that she was “more than a friend”. 

The relationship was a disaster. Each time I saw her, it was a stressful situation for me. I was so nervous, I wanted so bad to not make mistakes that I just became a stupid guy. 
It was so repetitive that she generally got mad and angst and dissapointed and exhausted. Once she even told me that she preferred to talk on the telephone rather than to see me.

I was so naive and silly. 

Then she moved to another city and I started to write letters to her.
I wrote her endlessly –I wonder what kind of nonsense things did I write her, and I suppose I would be ashamed of them– and she wrote me back. 

The last time I saw her, she thought she was pregnant and I was brokenhearted. She was in love with an Argentine artist and I was dealing with the fact that my ex-girlfriend –the longer relationship I had back then– just had married. 

(And, right now, as I remember those days and as I write this post, I feel I'm some sort of Marcel Proust copycat, writing a letter for you.) 

I still remember when we first met. 

I saw you in a small dinning room. I still remember the way you smiled. 
You seemed so shy and clever. I wanted to know you, but I was so shy to tell you. 

Each time I think about it, I wonder why didn't we meet long before. 
It would have been awesome. I am sure that, right now, everything would be different for both of us.   

Though we worked together for four years, only on the last days we shared an office –almost two years ago–, we started to have normal conversations. I really enjoyed. You seemed a human, after all. Maybe you thought I seemed a human after all, too. I sensed that you also enjoyed our brief conversations. We started to talk about nonsense issues. We started to act as normal people. Then I moved to another city. (Ironic, isn't it?) 

I wonder if someday we could just talk on the telephone as normal people.

Whisper Secrets For Me

Soulmates Never Die

In my dream, we were in the backseat of a bus.
We were side by side, so close together. 
The sun's rays illuminated your face. 
I could see your eyes as I had never seen them.

I realized that you had one small and fake eye.
(Now, I analyze why it happened and it makes me realize that a few nights earlier I saw The Big Short and that perhaps your small and fake eye was a subliminal residue of the character performed by Christian Bale. 
Isn't it funny?) 

Also, for the very first time, I realized the color of your eyes.
It surprised me and I couldn't stop thinking of your brownish eyes. 

You talked with a great enthusiasm, though your face reflected sadness. 
As you talked, I began to remember when we met.
I also began to remember how much I liked you and how many times did I dream of kiss you and get laid with you. It also made me think how many times did I try to avoid becoming a moron and hurt you. I was so afraid of being a dumbass and break your heart. 

We used to hang out between classes.
You were so pretty and fragile and you used to complain about men.
I heard every single word you said and I started to fall in love with you. 

At a moment, I began to write you letters and you began to respond them.
It was a really funny communication. It seemed that you wanted me to be more than a friend. I was really attracted to you. I couldn't stop thinking about your beauty. 
Your body was sexually attractive. It made me desire you. I wanted to touch you.

Once, as we spoke about Marcel Proust before a boring class, I couldn't ignore your breasts. It seemed that you were sort of cold, though we we're taking a sunbath on the grass of the backyard of the school. I accidentally saw your nipples and they drove me wild. 

For entire nights I closed my eyelids, just before I fall asleep, trying to recreate that beautiful image. It made me feel like a teenager discovering his own sexuality. I had innocent thoughts in which I could see them endlessly as I told you how pretty you were and how much I liked you and how much I desired you and how much I wanted to take care of you.

Once I told you –or wrote you on a letter, or both– how much I liked you and you blushed and you kept quiet. Then you said that you didn't want to suffer. 

You began to call me on the telephone.
Each day, it seemed so obvious that you were more and more interested on me. 
Though each day I liked you more than the previous day, I was so stupid and so afraid to hurt you that I just didn't dare to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend. 

I met another woman, I made her my girlfriend and we stopped talking. 
At the end, I hurt you and I felt so stupid. My girlfriend was so jealous about you. 
I'm not sure, but I guess she gave you a nickname related to your big breasts. 
She said, contemptuously, that you had huge breasts. 
It seemed that you didn't like her neither. When we had a few minutes to speak between classes, you referred to her as the monkey-girl. You said she seemed so mad and that she gave you violent and hostile looks, each time you crossed on the hallways of the school.

Years later, you called me on the telephone. 
By then, the monkey-girl was happily married (to another guy) and I felt sad, betrayed and lonely.
Somehow, I sensed thru your voice that you felt the same way I felt. 
I sensed that we were like soulmates. We met on a coffee shop. 

When we saw each other, after a long time, in the parking lot of that coffee shop, you gave me a very effusive hug. I felt your huge breasts upon on me and I felt so excited. Then you kissed me on the cheek. It was also so effusive. 
The entire scene was so intense that a moron passing by told us something like "Get a room!" and you, ironically, yelled him "Do you want me to kiss you, too?" 

Inside the coffee shop you sat in front of me.
At a time, as I told you how I felt and how happy I was of being with you and how beautiful you looked and how much did I miss you, you held my hand over the table. It felt so electrical. Then you smiled and you said: 

“If you keep acting like this, definitely I could fall in love with you”

We said Good bye in the same intense way we said Hello. 

Days later, we went to a movie theatre. 
You invited me to watch a movie and you even bought popcorns. 
I don't remember what was the movie about. 
I just remember the touch of your hands, when our hands accidentally coincided on the popcorn bucket. It was a pretty sexual moment. 
I just remember you by my side. We were so close together. 
You had your hair tied up and suddenly you let it go. You gave me a glimpse. The light of the screen illuminated your face. You said: 

“Maybe I will I give you a surprise” 

And it was silly –how in the hell could it be a surprise, if you were talking me about it!–, but it was also a pretty sexual moment. I still remember the way you sort of licked your lips for a second after you said that spell. 

I felt so dumbfounded and then I asked you for a photograph –photographs were not as common as they are now– and you smiled and asked me if I wanted you to give me a photograph with you wearing a thong. 

I felt so excited. What the hell did you just say? Did I hear it correctly?
We returned to your car in another parking lot and you began to talk about a party. You wanted me to go with you. You promised me to drink tequila and “get wild”. 

You challenged me: 

“You don't know what kind of woman I am when I am drunk!”

Then you began to talk about the guys you used to see in this kind of parties. 
Apparently, you hated them and you were fresh meat for them, or something like that. 

Though your signals were so obvious, though I was so excited, I declined your invitation. 

Now, I sporadically dream about you and I wonder what's have been up of your life. 

Sleeping With Ghosts