And I would lay in bed while I listened to pop songs and coloured thousand of stories on the empty walls.
Why did I find so much comfort in the horizontal lines that the blinds created when I looked at the sky.
I had seen love. Unquestionably.
But there is this picture of my mum under the tree on Christmas Eve. Her hair is short and I know that it started falling right after my dad left. She looks thin and her smile feels heavy, as if her cheeks could barley hold it in place.
My dad almost drawn in most bars in Madrid.
Many barmen knew our stories while the midnight streets tried to hold him steady.
I have seen love.