Tuesday, October 05, 2004


In your room
Where souls disappear
Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair
Or leave me lying here
Your favorite innocence
Your favorite prize
Your favorite smile
Your favorite slave
(In Your Room – Depeche Mode)

I remember the first time we moved in together. It was years ago, when we were both 18 years old and very much in love. We had been dating for a year when I decided to move to L.A. to do… God knows what…the thing is that I had moved away and left him. His heart was broken, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and it was, altogether, a miserable situation. We wrote to each other every single day of the six months that I was there, beautiful love letters, some even written in blood (I know, I know, we were kids!). We called each other every night and swore that when I got back, we would get married and love each other forever. I finally got back, moved in with him amd made love every day and every night. We would stay in bed days on end in the little room he had in that little house by the airport. Whenever we weren’t in the room, we would watch Sienfeld or walk to the corner store for ice cream or soda. We would walk past the pink house that was number 143 and tell each other that one day we would buy that house and our children would grow up there. God, we were so young and na├»ve! We had no money, we weren’t working and our families were concerned about us.

Eventually, we had to separate. He left to Virginia to live with his mom, I went back to Argentina to live with my parents but we always kept in touch, we always told each other that we would be together again someday. Years passed, many things happened… The day did come. We did find each other again and we got married, very much in love. In bed, years later, we would reminisce about the days spent in the little room and wondered if the pink house of love would someday be ours.

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