Dear , I can see the future. Or I thought I could in a dream. I saw her and I caught in some passionate embrace, and in a moment I knew that I wanted to whisper meaningless phrases of affection to her until my breath gave out. Who knows what love is; either a transient state of ephemera, or just some philosophical hearsay. My heart hurts, and it hasn't in such a long time, and not at all this strongly. My hands are clamy and my throat is stiff. I find myself in a hopeless state clamoring for you to run off with me... porque te quiero dar un beso. But somewhere I heard the hero never get the girl.
