I am out in the Spanish night and she is with me. We laugh, we dance, we are drunk and feel . . . Feel invincible, attractive, happy. We go in and out of pubs and bars, and discos with loud music. We drive in the car, aimlessly, looking for more places, for more drink, more men. I think I lost my bag.
You drove me home and I don’t remember saying goodbye, but I do remember the inside of your car. The next morning I found you lying down on your face, in the dirt, dead. I couldn’t see your face, I don’t remember . . . but you were dead.
Who are you? That I don’t remember you? You are my lover but I cannot see your face