I know, he thought, in less than one month it will be over again. She goes back to her world, her city, her things, her life. And all the will remains will be the memory of those times, these beautiful – and secret -hours we’ve spent together between a take and another. A linger touch on my bare back, her nails on me, caressing, scratching and caressing again. And her perfume. Her scent will haunt me and I don’t know what to do with myself 1

No. I know what I’ll do. Probably write a couple of lyrics about her in a cryptic way so no one is going to know that they are about her, but I will know and so will she. She always knows. She knows me so well. I’ll put her in my books, in my songs because she lives in me, she’s underneath my skin so deeply that I doubt that even death can tear us apart. I don’t know what to do with myself. So I put my deadpan face again. I smile and make jokes and everybody laughs but the truth is that her absence pains me in so many levels. And I have no choice but hold on and keep going with my life. A few weeks and it will be over again. And I’ll be back to my music and my books and my projects. And she flies aways. Away from me. Away from us. Would she come back? Ow it’s time for another scenes. I let the character take over me one more time hoping that it won’t be our last time together.

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