Indigestión.

Expulsó diez meses en una sola noche. Primero estuvo llorando; las lágrimas sabían como el mar que les envolvía a ambos en cada historia que escribía. Después estuvo vomitando, vomitando durante toda la noche. Llenó la taza del váter con canciones, ilusiones, novelas, textos, adolescencia, sangre, sonrisas, acelerones cardíacos, pero sobre todo con sueños, muchos sueños. Muchos más sueños de los que ella creía. Sueños de peces, de nubes, de lluvia, de playas, de trenes y abrazos que habían estado apareciendo en su cabeza cada dos por tres, desde hacía mucho tiempo.

Dreams

I had a strange dream last night.
There was you and me, lying on an enormous extension of grass which was on the top of a high cliff. A few metres ahead of us there was the edge of the cliff, and then, the sea.
We were talking, laughing, joking... together at once, for the first time and who knows, maybe for the last one too. Cameras in hand, inmortalisating every moment as unique. We had been waiting for that moment for so long that we didn't want to miss or forget anything.
I was wearing my yellow All Stars, and, for some strange reason, you were wearing yellow Vans. We were taking pictures of each other, of us together, of little details, of our feet, of our smiles. Last thing I remember of that dream was that I tried to take a picture of our shoes on the air, with the sea behind them, so that it looked as if we were stepping on the sea.
I bet we could have done it if that dream was true.
Good friends never die.