Last night you were present in a dream. Hurting me with your arrogance, intellectual strenght and sincere indifference towards me you forced me to face the destructiveness of my mere remembrance of you. You decided to take a bus and I was left alone in the night with anonymous people on a big street in a country that wasn’t mine. I cared a lot, but I don’t remember crying the way you did once.

Morning came and with it did happiness. Laughter, pleasure and dreams about never-ending sundays in Barcelona.