Good night.

2A bar (NYC). May, 2007.

-A veces lo importante no es el camino: a veces, lo importante es simplemente empezar a andar-.
(Me encantaría recordar quién dijo esto).

She woke up in the middle of the night, as usual. The bed smelt of both of them and of what they had done just a couple hours ago.

Outside, it was still dark.

She stood up silently, putting her clothes on almost to the rythm of the heavy breathing that the bulk under the sheets was delivering, and walked through the door and out of the room. Halfway on the corridor that led to the front door, she remembered something and walked back. As she entered the room, she realized he was awake.

“I´m sorry”, she said, “but I have to go. I just didn´t want to wake you up.”

“It´s ok”, he replied, “I wasn´t expecting to see you in the morning, anyway.”


He could tell she was surprised, maybe even about her own question, as if it had left her mouth against her will.

“Well… I guess I knew you´re too good to be true.”


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