When I was 15 years old, I called my Dad
“Our ceiling is broken. I can see the clouds above my bed”.
I never had any idea how to fix the broken ceiling, neither my Dad
I was too little to know if I need to repair our house
I should call a handyman, not my Dad

When I was 11 years old, I said to my Mom
“I am going to pool with friends this afternoon”.
Two hours after I came home hungry, but my Mom wasn't there
I was too little to know if I hungry
I should learn to cook my own food,
instead of crying over Mom’s absence.

When I was 15 years old I never invited any friends to our house
because we had a broken ceiling
Days passed and the house did not want to invite me
back to home again.
The broken ceiling cried, leaked. I called my Dad,
“I think there is something wrong with the electricity. Everything is shut down”,
I called my Mom,
“I am hungry, there is nothing left to eat in our fridge”.

Ten years passed, I left the house, now I can cook my own food
And at least I know where to call a handyman
Sometimes memories of the house with a broken ceiling still invite me,
and now I’m on my way to repair it.

I let you kissed me for the last time,
because I felt a satisfaction about warmth in your arms,
as warm as in my mother’s womb.
Last kisses. Last hugs. However, I gave a welcome for love.

I remember in every 26 each month
It was the first day I met you:
your green shorts, my black skirt,
1 ½ shots of tequila we shared of,
and my fuss about the long way we had to through to your room.

I let you kissed me for the last time,
then we went back to each other home.
Last kisses. Last hugs. Why we didn’t say good bye as normal people do?

I remember in our same small town, last month
it was the first day I want to say a good bye for love:
I was walking alone without you,
held my plan towards you
but you just sat on your corner
never spoil me with a cue
neither a warmth, a welcome, to let me enter your home,
your heart.

I hold my own hands,
to walk into
an empty aisle.