Another One's Photograph

   I come back home tonight to find a friend I haven't seen in so long. He is on this screen so many people see everyday and he is showing off this picture of him and this girl. They're a couple and they've been together for a while, I know her only by imagery and by the words he uses to describe her.

   "You look like each other" I said when he showed me the first picture of her. He laughed, "You're no the first one to say that." He said.

   But it's late, and I still have this picture of them in my mind, you can hardly see they're faces because they're obscured, she is behind him leaning her head against his; he's turning to his side as if to kiss her.

   All of a sudden these desires come rushing in, these wants of company. It's bizarre because of the fact that I left exactly that to be alone and BECAUSE I could no longer stand being alone. It's ironic and very complicated to explain.

   It's this picture that's just stuck in my mind, this image of the greatest of friends and greatest of musicians with someone I know only by his words and feelings. Can there be any kinda of "good" envy? For I want what he has right now yet I do not feel bad, I do not feel undeserving of what I don't have. I know eventually I'll find something like that. At least I wish it so.

   For the moment they're apart and he'll travel to where I am to be closer to her. We will talk and remember the times we played for all the loneliness that nobody notices now; that time on my balcony where my father was so incredibly impressed at his skills; "That kid that looks like John Lennon..." my father said", "... Damn, he's good!"

   That was the last time us three, "El Trío Miserias" my father called us, jammed together.

   We'll see each other more often I suppose, we'll both carry our guitars and the music in our heads, at last we'll live in the same country and have much more of a chance to play. Like the old times, like that time at Mazamitla with the old piano; or the times in that painfully small room in that underground garage with our only bass player "One finger sliding up and down the neck" Rafa. At least I think that was his name.

   He's on the phone as we speak most likely speaking with her, the girl from the picture, talking how each day they're closer to being back together in New York of all places.

   A city barely fit for my friend.

   Cheers man and see you soon.