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 on your property? should you tell me if you were faking the time i managed to return from the roof after burning even the glass horizon of the bathroom window while i jumped into the balcony right on top of you and no one noticed? 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 of that eternal tree that kept an eye on me since i was a kid and now it's full of orchids despite going through lots of small and at least more than one aggressive trim! the street isn't calm anymore. not because the city is bigger but maybe because there was so few cars back in those days and everything was so yellowish. how do you feel after sitting with me at the stair that separates the street from the other set of stairs to the entrance of your house more than 20 years later? 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 and turn some valvules and start the suction system to finally climb the hole again and grab that heavy magic broom that maybe isn't aggressive to suck a little kid swimming but i told to a little cousin where 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 stuff. 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 turn into a mermaid with her and Lara 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 day. i noticed it started to hog if i loaded more than 1 plastic ball to make a shotgun. wars weren't fun so it didn't took me much time to decide to break the plastic mechanism but looking back i regret a bit. at least it 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 one at their belt, who knows why. excuse me for not getting interested on that story but from the guessed registry your not a criminal. you didn't even accepted the city request of turning you 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. but i released some micro-tonal samples on my other family's great grandad nylon guitar on Instagram histories. i even tried to lure Maddie Ashman to co-exist with a short old record of me. i would spin my objectives to live out of gigs around the British land if i was good enough for her. i would hold her hand and bite that delicious arm at least once. 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, no one wanted to go vegan with me". i can't feel connected to my own lineage. did i told you if i had a real gun i wouldn't be here? maybe i can't predict that. Matilde reflected that knowing how to shoot is to not hit the target and now that i have maturity to hold a gun, just to think how much anxiety a piece of metal like it carries, i would use it to destroy itself. just like on 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 and astray of something you are much closer than me. maybe i'll find the love of my life that lives away and i'll exchange letters or e-mails just like you but this time, without forming a family because i already accepted: birds and insects and trees are my children and my parents too because i never shouted or got mad at them and as far as rumors of everyone i met, you also never even had a small fight after i don't know how many years past 50 years on 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 or myself. birds do flock away without these blazing rules of ties and bounds but i'll miss you