las estrellas fugaces que ví en aquella noche.

I have dreams of memories that are not my own.

I walk through rooms worn with years, they are dull and dusty.

I run my hands across the cracked baroque wallpaper that surrounds me.

The patterns touch and connect, leading me to a forgotten place.

Porcelain sheets adorn the tired bed in place of perfection, pillows lay in wait for eyes to close on top of them.

Pictures of people that have lived so much life hang like bodies.

They melt and weep down the walls.

They weep for me and for themselves.

The window that bathes everything in twisting streams of soft light is open, but veiled by a fragile curtain that doesn't move.

Through that curtain, through the intricate map of cracks in the cold glass, I see the night sky.

It's dark and opaque but still bright, and somehow the stars still flicker and dance across the horizon.

Surely, this sky is the same as the one I see in my waking world.

Surely, this sky will embrace me.

Yo tengo recuerdos. Mis recuerdos.