No están

Mis amigos no están. Los recuerdos me inundan cuando recorro la calle de su casa. Éramos los 5 mosqueteros. 12 años juntos. De risas, de llanto, de cantar a todo pulmón auque nuestras voces no son las mejores. 12 años de comprencion, de aceptarnos con nuestros complicadas formas de ser y raros gustos. Los extraño, vaya si los extraño. Fueron a los primeros que les conté que me gustan las chicas. No se alejaron, solo bromearon, Lo sabíamos cariño. Recuerdo que con ellos bebí por primera vez, bebimos todos de echo y nos cuidamos la resaca, ja las resacas. Llamarnos en la noche porque teníamos problemas era una costumbre y celebrar cada uno de sus triunfos como si fuera propio otra. Mis amigos no están. Ahora solo quedan recuerdos , recuerdos que duelen porque solo quedo yo.

My friends are gone. Memories flood me as I walk down the street to their house. We were the 5 musketeers. 12 years together. Of laughter, of crying, of singing at the top of our lungs even though our voices are not the best. 12 years of understanding, of accepting each other with our complicated ways of being and strange tastes. I miss them, I really miss them. They were the first ones I told that I like girls. They didn't walk away, they just joked, We knew, honey. I remember drinking with them for the first time, we all drank in fact and we nursed our hangovers, ha ha hangovers. Calling each other at night because we had problems was one habit and celebrating each of their triumphs as if it were our own another. My friends are gone. Now there are only memories left, memories that hurt because i am the only one left.

-picture edited by Canvas.