should i ever tell you how many cannabis cigarettes i smoked past midnight and how much time i stared at the stars on the effect. should you tell me if you were faking the time i managed to return from the roof after burning me and the glass horizon of the bathroom window and jumping into the balcony right on top of you, without anyone noticing? how solid my memory still recall the day you took me by the hand to show me the stoner (which i still not sure who they were but i suspect it was someone) sitting on one of the branches at that eternal tree that kept an eye on me since i was a kid and now it's full of orchids, having being through lots of trims and at least one aggressive trim! the street isn't calm anymore. not because the city is bigger now but maybe because there was so little cars back in that days were the sun was so yellowish. how do you feel more than 20 years later after sitting with me at the staircase that separates the street from the other set of staircase to the entrance of your house? how do you feel that maybe it's dangerous to let you clean the swimming pool all by yourself since you are almost 100 and you gotta descend on that little hole with the water filter and the water bomb to turn some valvules and start the suction system to finally climb the hole once again to grab that magic and heavy magic broom that maybe isn't aggressive to suck a little kid swimming but i told to a little cousin the hole the water goes is where i keep little kids locked. she called me a mermaid-eater-witch after all. i lost it all when i grabbed her like a little package and headed to the oven to "cook mermaids". that cry wasn't aware i feel bad to even kill a spider, let alone eat sushi. and for the sake of you, reader that isn't my grandad: i managed to be a mermaid at the end of that day by the way. grandad you getting old and dominoes stones will always have the same number. were you letting me win when i opened 10 victory points of difference that night? do you remember the day you taught me how to shoot with a revolver and i won't tell anyone but i think i broke it intentionally when you left me alone on that foggy and rainy. i noticed it started to hog if i loaded more than 1 plastic ball to make a shotgun. wars weren't fun not that long after i broke the plastic mechanism i regret a bit. at least i was something to do, as my Game Boy already had a save-game with all the elite-four beaten and even Latias was captured. maybe the history would be different if i knew about the existence of a real gun at the house. i wonder how it felt the time everyone had to carry a gun on their belt or a knife, who knows why. i didn't got interested on this but from the registry your not a criminal. didn't even accepted the city request of you turning into a mayor but why did you told me no one at the family was or should be musical oriented and gave me a harmonica when i was a kid? i think once someone heard me trying to figure out The Blue Danube by ear in an innocent night. i guess i behaved pretty nicely on my lack of understanding. i released some micro-tonal samples on the guitar of my other family's great grandad on Instagram histories. i even tried to lure Maddie Ashman to a co-exist with a short record. i would spin my objectives to live out of gigs around the British land if i was good enough for her. have you ever asked your parents if they missed Argentina or Italy the most? i think one day i'll visit the little commune by bicycle and think, "will not even ask the neighbors about them". after all i'll look to the mountains and think: no one wanted to be vegan. i can't feel connected to my own lineage. did i told you if i was like you and had a real gun i wouldn't be here? Matilde reflected that knowing how to shoot is to not hit the target. guess it's because hitting doesn't solve anything. nowadays i can have a gun but just to think how much anxiety a piece of metal like it carries, i would use my gun to destroy itself. just like my trainee days. grandad what i can type to you? you already faced a crocodile on the river you were traversing. danced along hundreds of beer cups and returned running the remaining kilometers on dirt paths after playing soccer. what can i do to you now that we can't even walk kilometers away and stray of something you are much closer than me. maybe i'll find the love of my life that lives away and exchange letters just like you but this time, without forming a family because i already accepted: birds and insects and all the trees are my friends and part of my new family because i never shouted or got mad at them and as far as rumors of everyone i met, you never even had a small fight after i don't know how many years after 50 years of being with Amelia. and maybe that's why i'm here, typing to someone that will be dead, as last time i saw her alive we were mounting a temporary camp at the backyard and the only objects allowed inside were papers and that typewriter i wrote so much stuff that i decided to burn everything down in one of the thousands revolutions i made to forget i ever had a family. because birds do flock away without these blazing rules of ties and bounds - i'll miss you