Madrid (julio de 2008)

Finally, I am on the bus that is taking me out of Madrid. Rufus whispers in my ear he’s going to a city already burnt down, and makes me wonder where am I going to and what am I leaving behind.

I realize the woman sitting next to me has just started crying, what brings immediately to my head that night two years ago, when I cried by myself on a train and finished drinking stolen alcohol from the train cafeteria with two girls I had just met.

That night I cried about my first kiss to Madrid. By then, Madrid was a tragic love story full of hopes. Way back then, Madrid was my first love.

Two years have gone by and Madrid has had many faces. There have been two big love stories (of two episodes each) and many mistakes. A lot of kisses that weren’t supposed to happen. Every one of these kisses was different, but in every one, I was kissing you, Madrid.

I got to know me better by kissing all of your different faces, Madrid.
I have taught myself I can love by falling in love with some of your faces, Madrid.

Instantly, I think of some nights before. I asked you to kiss me. I told you I needed some kisses to survive a whole year in Japan. You did, and you kissed me as sweetly as you always did. We kissed each other until I fell asleep in your arms. I asked you not to think about it. I tried to explain that I did not need your kisses specially, but Madrid’s kisses.

Remembering all of that makes me feel really funny. It makes me miss your people, Madrid. It makes me miss your kisses.

The woman keeps sobbing. I, of all the people in the bus, know that she wants to go on crying without questions. I turn so I can face the window, make myself to sleep and leave her all alone. My mouth feels salty. Great, I’m crying too.

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