Lost in the Spanish neighborhood

I do not know what to say to you. I have been waiting for your news for four long years. Time heals everything, and makes waiting bearable. Maybe I do not remember what I was waiting for. But I still do not know the reason; why did you do all this to me? Sometimes, at night, I look at the stars and ask them about the reason. This is madness, and I know. To think that the story is written in the constellations, has a beginning and middle, and maybe a happy ending. But honestly, I do not understand anything. I cannot even differentiate between the simplest types of constellations: the sky here is foggy, inverted, unfamiliar. Yet I love watching the stars. Every star, is a trace of a luminous, unique, and perfect body, but it melted and disappeared. Every star is a luminous memory. I did everything to forget you and forget everything related to you. A kind of self-amnesia.