They say "home is where the heart is", but I say I left my heart in 1980 there where the Barrio

is, and the noisy trucks, buses, and rusty old cars go by... I saw that lemon tree again and in the balcony I sat next to you the legends you told were exiting to me. Your beautiful wavy hair, curled back and how it fell on your shoulders... I laid my head on your lap, right on that "delantal" that old apron, with the smell and the stain of the food you had just cooked, and you caressed my hair as you told me the stories of your life... And when the clock hit four, there we were coffee and “pan dulce” that sweet bread I looked forward to every lazy afternoon. Those were the days, the days of my childhood, the days where nothing matter, but a good cup of coffee, pan dulce, your stories, the smell of tortillas in the background, your hand on my head and the noisy life in el Barrio… There is where my heart is, there is where you’ll find it, and though you are now gone, gone into a world I don’t comprehend, and you don’t know me anymore, nor do you know my name... I know somewhere in that universe you are lost, for one spare second of your day, you do remember, you remember my name, and the silly stories you told…

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