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What is written here, is an inaccurate mix of facts, memories and dreams. Somehow the reality is just a mind game in which sometimes we ideate, and sometimes, we live. That afternoon transited slow, as any other. From that cold and filled with crystals office, practically the entire city could be observed in three hundred sixty degrees. The building was not peculiar, it was just a taller pile on the horizon. Their five floors and the different enterprises who rented it, there wasn’t something really get attention. Between financial companies and a coffee shop who tried to be avant-garde, but never got it. The silence, but overall, the cold, came around seven in the afternoon. However, beneath the emptiness, the loneliness and the slightly darkness; it was only necessary pass the heavy crystals which separated my office from the hallway, to perceive that sweetness smell from that popular young woman perfume, which at that time had filled my soul and a bit after will made me sick. That night I ended the job pretty late, as usual. Turned off the computer, closed the windows, I looked out from one of the four balconies, lighten up a cigarette, like wishing that after inhaled the smoke, as magic the phone ring and that was her, offering apologize about the time and asking me to pick her up; like every other time she went out, without other notice than: -I got to go, call you later-. Without being conscious of it, I tighten up my jaw and clenched my fist, swallowing the smoke which burned deep in my throat, and didn’t help to calm the anxiety. Regardless the effort for not think about it, the images began to appear in my mind. Her cute smile, her heels noise, her perfume impregnating the halls. I looked up the phone screen, wishing for her text message, her missing call, something which relieved my anxiety. While I got close to the reception counter, an even more hurtful but maybe more sane idea, get formed in my head; if she tell me without hesitation, is better, if she ends with my misery by being honest. At that point of my pathetic anxiety, maybe I was preferred something like: I’ve never loved you, I never forgot my ex, or almost any expression who ended that agony. I took the keys, pushed the elevator button, there wasn’t anyone left in the building. I went down the elevator, the guard waited for me at the ground floor. As soon the elevator opened and although I didn’t have the slightest desire to talk with him, he started: -Good night, boss. Are you going home to rest? Then, can I close the building, right? She will not come back- I nodded with the head, closed the elevator doors continued down to the parking lot; while those last words resonated infinitely: “She will not come back”. I walked out the elevator with stomachache, bowels were burning me from the inside. I opened the car door with desperation, trembling I started out the engine and moved out. In the almost entire darkness of that place, the screen light of the phone penetrated my jacket, even from the inside. It was about a text message notification, it said: - Baby are you getting over there? If you get sooner, wait for me a little, I’m driving late. [Phone number identified like Juan J.] There are a few things for which you are not prepared. But, when you confronted with an irrefutable piece of evidence, the impact is so serious that there’s not return; is like break a ceramic piece, it would never be like it was originally. That message was received on the company’s phone. She used it to not leave trace in her's or to avoid received any claim from me in case I discovered it. Or even worst, she had been done with premeditation, satisfying with that my previous thought. No, evidently, I didn’t wish at all confirm she didn’t love me, that she didn't care about me, and what’s more I did or avoid things to grave our relationship. I only could feel pain. It hurt me in the stomach, in the throat, in the knees, got difficult to breath. And I decided to suffer the greatest pain I ever experimented, but also the last. I went to this guy house, to this undesirable person's house, this person who just three days ago; his own mother without knowing me, she dared to congratulated me for try to make her happy. And rant about all the nonsense and bad times that this guy put her through; she wished to me and his son’s ex, truly happiness. I had heard stories about driving complete journeys, without being able to remember how you got to the destination. For me, that was also a new experience. My breathing transcended the silence of the streets, my hands sweat had leave evidence on the steering wheel, all the pain got presence, tearing apart, unraveling my mind. Despite all this, I would have wished that by passing through those two last blocks, I really would have wanted that the truth would stab me; that the reality would have shoot me at blank range on the chest, that the certainness would have exploit me and would have blown me off in thousand pieces. However, I could pass the rest of my life recalling without ever understand, how only two blocks away from my destruction and without be able to distinguish anything around, it was an almost the same destruction, but not mine, that who changed my life. It was a shadow who barely made sense, her absurdly rowdy hair, her jeans and blouse stained with the dirt it accumulates commonly on the sidewalks, her smudged eyeliner and mascara, her eyes sunken from crying. The empty street, in silence, the dark and cold night, the loneliness intact. After stopping the car, I went for her, absolutely stunned by the pain, that pain who centered in the throat and overflowed by the eyes. I got close and picked her up by the elbows, she looked at me, and sobbing said something that I just could understood when the sounds became present, when the lights and people began to appear. When the night and cold slapped me on the face: -He came with her, that prick brought her. They came from a Motel- To this very moment I don’t know what it’s more harmful: she going after him, or I'm going after something that never existed.