It has been a very, very long time since I write in
English. I speak in Spanish all the time, I read, I laugh, I cry. When I
use each language, I have different views of things, of people and
But I shall try to write. To tell a story.
The twenty-third of June was a beautiful night. The air wasn't hot, yet
not chilled, the sky black and dark, everyone celebrating the shortest
night of the year, lighting fires all around the place, as the custom
says we should do.
My friends Dani, Irati, Elena, and Javi and I made our own little fire
and began to burn Tokio Hotel pictures. We heavily dislike this band,
and thought it entertaining to watch them burn, alongside other pathetic
musicians, such as the Jonas Brothers.
I remember Dani's eyes gleaming with glee, the fire produced by Javi's
lighter glimmering against their faces.
Quite childish, perhaps, but simply beautiful.
We laughed, and as we spoke and giggled and burnt, I studied my friend's
faces and expressions, reading their looks and admiring every curve of
their noses, cheekbones, chins, seeing their long hair dance in the
fragile wind, listening to their voices.
Dani is fourteen, soft, thin, even woman-like. He has long black hair,
his eyes dark and smiling, always wearing heavy metal T-shirts and tight
black trousers full of metal chains, his fingernails painted black, his
walk graceful, yet sturdy, laughing in his crazy lollopy way.
Irati is thirteen, very tall, her hair dark and not so long, her eyes
black, yet glinting, an eternal grin on her lips, smiles illuminating
her full, pale face. She speaks, her words giggle, always joking, always
playing; she is so full of life, so dreamy, in a way.
Javi is a small boy, fourteen years old, thin, very quiet. His eyes are
big and golden, his lashes long and black, brushing the dry air with
every look, bleeding sunlight. He and Elena are in love. His skin is
white, hair brown and long, an Iron Maiden shirt pressing against his
body, his soul ready to grab a guitar and, along with Dani, get lost in
music and fly.
Elena, Elena is simply perfect. Thirteen, very thin, her hair a dark
gold, eyes big and green. Dressed in black, she laughs, she screams, she
shouts... She is my soul mate.
The night grows older, and the fire continues burning... Irati and Javi
have to leave, they have to arrive home early. It's only 10.30 p.m., but
Elena feels quite empty.
But we continue laughing. Elena, Dani, and I go to a sweet shop and buy
a pastry with lots of cream on top. We eat it all together, and then we
take pictures of us with cream on our noses. Elena dabs her finger into
the cream and pokes Dani on the nose. I laugh. They tickle each other.
Later that night, we stamp what is left of the cream pastry against a
statue's face. We think it's so funny...
And we don't even need to be drunk to have a great time.
We go to a park, and another friend, whose nickname is Steel, comes.
He is fifteen. He is lean and tall, his hair is shorter than Javi's or
Dani's, blackish, brown. His eyes are of a deep dark brown, his eyebrows
are amazing. He laughs quite a lot, yet he does feel cold sadness much
We walk, and he holds my hand, and when we get to the park all four of
us lie on the ground and stare at the dark, black night, the sky full of
stars, glimmering so, so far away.
And then Steel looks me in the eye.
then we kiss.
And it is perfect.