i rush out the train. someone's being eyeing my legs for some time. it's probably because of the scars, still a bit red because my skin doesn't heal as fast as it used to though it's been a month already.
           i've been working all day. my life lately has been a whirlwind of new people, of new places, hip hop and beer and shots taken in the middle of someone's backyard in ciudad evita, the moon hanging low and yellow like cheddar bathing the trees like a small noon sun. palermo is like a home to me now: i spend most of my days there. i have my own room at my dad's and i go out in the middle of the night while my dad's fast asleep to have a smoke and ponder at the stars. i feel either extremely lonely or full of love, i'm either fucking like an animal or reading a story, either working the life out of my bones or lazing around my room. it's not like before, no. it's a lot better, because i've grown so much. two years ago seem like twenty; every time i think about the characters i liked before it feels like a stab in the gut because i remember how truly lonely i was, but it's getting better, they were right in the end. the wound isn't gaping now; it's red and angry but it's not open and throbbing, like the ones on my legs. i don't it'll ever heal completely, but i'm genuinely enjoying things now, i'm feeling happy, i'm trying to be true to myself and to my feelings, not my stubborn, sickening pride. i tame it like a wild lion every day, and i don't think i've ever been so out in the open before, so vulnerable. blame it on the alcohol, i guess.
           i'm letting go of my fear. because in the end, my pride has always been the result of my fear of being rejected, of being second best, of being ugly, fat, mean, whatever. now i'm slowly trying to learn to just accept myself as i am; if i'm important to the people i love, why should i care about what others think about me?
            and now i'm not comparing sol to the past either. too little, too late, but at least i got there. i'm realizing a lot of things about everything, coming to terms with it all. it was ten months, after all. zoe's in germany, exchanging for some time but i don't think she's coming back. the only thing i miss about her are her eyes and her milky skin. she was never much of a friend anyway.
            haedo embraces me back home like a lover. the leaves in the trees roar with the wind and i break it apart with my fingers like stream-water. the crickets buzz so loud i hear them as if they were inside my head; the smell of homemade food oozes out of houses and the train wails in the distance along with the laughs of a child.
            my mom's packing the bags already. she's making lists, making phonecalls, and i can practically feel the excitement shaking my sister's small body. she's so anxious to go back home, but this is her home. i'll be alone for a month and thank god i have a job this summer or else i would've been a mess.
            i imagine what it'd be like to invite sol over. i don't think she'd ever come back here, even for her things and all. i don't even remember what i had of her's anymore beside her shirt; it fits me like a dress and i find that awfully endearing. her necklace gleams around my neck but it doesn't match my hair anymore, strange, right? and to think franco gave it back after we broke up.
            i don't think i'd like it, either. haedo is mine. haedo is my youth, it's short skirts and bleeding sunsets and sticky ice-cream coated fingers. zoe ruined it, as she often did. haedo is home of my first loves, not of the messes i kept (and keep) leaving behind as a young adult. if you ever came around here, i'd want you to as a friend, because if i ever catch myself missing you it's because i miss our friendship more than anything. whenever i think about us thinking about living together (remember?), or our vacations or things like that, i smile at the foolishness of it all. but my heart really hurts thinking about how much we hurt each other when we cared about each other so much. i made a mess of myself around you, that's for sure.
              but what i realized this time is that i've been lying. i truly believe, now more than ever, that it was you that saw me more vulnerable than any of the women i've been with. not more than gabriel; he held me sobbing over a corpse. and i realized it the moment i let my guard down, the moment i whipped my lion into painful submission. i never pretended to be anyone other than myself around you; i told you my secrets freely, laughing at how stupid they were. i tried to be strong but i realize now that i am strong, vulnerable and all. and fucking up's okay, as long is it doesn't hurt anyone, and i hurt you.
             so if you would ever haul your ass to my hometown in some delirious impulse (because you have those often) i'd apologize. i don't want to taint it with anything else than that. and when you turn around and walk back to the train station and all i see is your back and head of red head i hope it won't be the last time. you're not matias, you're not a basket case, you're not any of that. you're just you, and it took me long, far too long, for me to realize that.