Paseo between photos and see these faces, these women, of the time lost and almost forgotten, slowly accumulated in fractures of my skin, my crow's feet. I look at their faces a few seconds adolescents, their burnished skin of youth, and I remember in one fatal blow, in a reminiscence that almost hurts, the sound of their laughter, the thinness of his figures to the backlight or the smell of the sea in her wet hair . Because the women in my life are like the sun flashing silver in the sea, which glow in the distance only for a moment, here and there, never in the same place, never in the same situation.
As sown throughout my childhood, my teens or my maturity later their lives intersected with mine by providing a vision, smell, taste and then continued its way through twists and turns that I could or wanted to follow. From those relations that lasted for years who did not have greater longevity than a night on the streets of Madrid, from which only gave me a phrase to which I gave all their breath, caresses and kisses, all , peppering the continuum of my life, deserve more than my memory tangled deserve an ode, a song all the experience that left me, a desire born of her curves, to the delight of their concessions, the pain also imposed by refusing me my love wild and crazy times. And that song as which Humbert heard from the top of the cliff while admiring the mining population down there is as beautiful as ineffable, and part of me as his fingers hitting the keyboard, such as words that crowd suddenly get out of my mind dull, drunken memories and nostalgia, the flavor of that time, those women are almost forgotten.
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