Corazón amarillo de un caballo alado

I was mad at the song because I thought the singer was happy as I heard him sing it. But it was a sad song. And that's the thing about music, it cannot lie. One slow melody combined with the keynote I wish I'd known how to name and I'll be drowning in my own tears. And that's also the thing about music... my teacher said the other day that music could replace the sexual impulses inside a human mind, and that's unknown and uncertain, sort of like everything else. But it was sometimes easier to find Edipo in a song than a body. And I just can't help to think of Juan when he said he wanted to learn the language of music, and the teacher saying there was not such thing. I think of how it feels to sing, and how she looks when she talks about music, and how it seems to be the only thing that feels ok to her... and I cannot help thinking that's the only language worth listening to. "Take me down easy, let me land softly back in your arms"

Or maybe they're just flashbacks. Maybe they're just what I thought I wanted to do, but didn't. I remember kicking his body away from mine when he was on top of me. I was too weak to say anything else than a "No". I remember having a phone on my face at a time, on my body, on my shame. I was too weak to do more than just cover my face with my hands. I might be paranoid but I sometimes feel like men in the street recognize me, from somewhere... maybe there. It must be my own self-pity creating the image of him stopping when I asked him to. It must be that, otherwise I wouldn't have the clear memory of me crying in the shower, cleaning up the remaining of his selfish violence on my chest, going back to the comforting arms of his, he who couldn't see what was wrong, kissed my forehead and cuddled me night through up until his sister came back home, crying, drunk, just like me only a few hours ago. I could've been her. She could've been me. She co