I, made a man, stupid with relationships, decided to miss her this morning in Barcelona. She is all Barcelona; artist’s heart, Latin kiss, freedom in color, joy in any season of the year. I haven’t seen her for three years. It’s been three years since her last text saying “take care”. Even though I still think she spelled it wrong meaning “take care of me”. I never asked; I prefer my illusions. It’s been three years… and she still doesn’t know I wear colored socks.

A fait accompli, masculine cliché: the unexpected resurgence of something that once was and will never be again. In metaphors, it sounds like a phoenix that, unlike the others, does not rise from the ashes, but only takes them under the rug; thing of a man facing loneliness face to face, wanting to turn back the time when even the clock has already changed the days.

Is it time to resurface, you idiot? – screams my wisdom. I hold on to the mattress, type a message, delete, rewrite, put my cell phone on my chest, count sheep, dreams and stars, but I only miss you; one. I need to be sensible, I need to control myself… It turns out I’m not sensible when nostalgia plays at being an eight-ton tractor.

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Yes, I sent the message! It was unassuming. But with all the pretensions in the world. And worse, with that same excuse as always, the one that frees us from guilt and from the open chest like target shooting: “I just wanted to know how you are…”. I needed to empty myself, even if it only served to sink further; sentimental apnea. I wouldn’t have the expected answer, I know, fair, but like a caress, a cut sometimes goes so well… it’s a beautiful opportunity to start over. And I need so much.

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I held my breath, left the consequences in the drawer and sent: “time passes… now the nostalgia plays at going back and forth without even asking permission”. Waiting for the answer, it was difficult to sleep, I was in agony, I kept looking at my cell phone with every sudden awakening in the night. Was it difficult for her to respond quickly? Why did she torture me so much? Almost noon, 11:38, and she answered a: “how are you?” that had everything to be a rough and brief “happens”. And it was.

We talked a little more, followed the protocol and amended another “take care” that “take care of me” had nothing. It’s true, we don’t have anything else to do. She went, flew, met other guys, learned to love differently; I stayed, controlled myself, carried out all the stories I told her I would, even learned to cook… who knew. Even today, after three years, even with the wrong timing in which nostalgia shows up, I still control my desires and longings, crazy for you, so as not to play with her emotional stability, it wouldn’t be fair, nor mature; she’s so happy, and I’m so fleeting…

But before I go, I just wanted to know one thing: how are you?