Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

I knew when you said you never wanted to talk to me again, you meant it. And I gave you your distance. I understood completely; I had hurt you, and I admit it. I told myself that it was for the best, because you had hurt me too.

Our silence was my finality.

So I wondered why, after so long, I found myself uneasy when they talked to me about you. I did not say anything, of course, but my smile, I'm sure, gave me away. Why do you still persist in my memory?

Where are you?
What could you be doing?
Are you okay?

I told you before that, in spite of everything, I've managed to keep only good memories of you. Only you have taken care of me. That way. And I know it. I will be forever thankful for that kindness; sometimes, totally undeserved.

And so, on an oppressive evening such as this, half doubting whether it is really you, or just the idea of you, I have to admit certain things: that I do sometimes miss you. Still.