I love you honey, but I love me more at least that is what the phrase says. Daniela Romo wrote this song, dedicated to all the mujeres, who got their hearts broken because of a machista, a jerk. Years has gone by since I have last seen my first love, the one who I truly loved with all my heart. I still remember his monkey eyes, and his burnt-sugar colored skin. The feeling of hot, burning skin when we held hands, un chaparrito, a short person even for Mexican standards. Even throughout the years, I have tried to get Flavio Munguía out of my head. I have done my best these years but there are moments of weakness such as today when I start thinking about him. I remember all the happy memories I had with him. The times we went to eat chilaquiles
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In the four years, he hasn’t sent a postcard, a note, letter, or even a phone call. That shows me that he didn’t want to be with me at all, just his playtoy while he was in America.
It is four years later, and I must see the signs that I must move on. My job is being transferred to New York. It is a sign for me to leave the dreadful city of San Antonio and lead a new life. No more heartbreaks, no more focusing on the downside, I must be strong Mexican women that I can be. I will not let las chicas down. I must live in the present, in the moment, to not think of the future or the past. Must find inner peace in myself, cannot get distracted once more in New York.
In order for everything to go to plan, I must get destroy any connection of Flavio, and that is with my most treasured possession, the poem.
I have positioned myself by the fireplace, holding the poem in my hand. Soft feel of the paper, the ridges of the ink he used, his signature at the end as Rogelio Velasco. That should have warned me of the discretion he had over people knowing who he really was. Nevermind that, the poem needs to disposed of immediately. It’s hard to tear it off my fingers and into the burning fire, it’s like getting rid of a piece of your
In the four years, he hasn’t sent a postcard, a note, letter, or even a phone call. That shows me that he didn’t want to be with me at all, just his playtoy while he was in America.
It is four years later, and I must see the signs that I must move on. My job is being transferred to New York. It is a sign for me to leave the dreadful city of San Antonio and lead a new life. No more heartbreaks, no more focusing on the downside, I must be strong Mexican women that I can be. I will not let las chicas down. I must live in the present, in the moment, to not think of the future or the past. Must find inner peace in myself, cannot get distracted once more in New York.
In order for everything to go to plan, I must get destroy any connection of Flavio, and that is with my most treasured possession, the poem.
I have positioned myself by the fireplace, holding the poem in my hand. Soft feel of the paper, the ridges of the ink he used, his signature at the end as Rogelio Velasco. That should have warned me of the discretion he had over people knowing who he really was. Nevermind that, the poem needs to disposed of immediately. It’s hard to tear it off my fingers and into the burning fire, it’s like getting rid of a piece of your