Oi ya no vives con él, amor
Y vi, la memoria de aquel adios
Que sufri, tantos años sin tu amor
Quizas me abrazas otra vez

No se, hablarte o escribir
Mi fe, aun sigue esperandote
Tal vez, me diras que me quieres
Quizas, me abrazas otra vez

Yo le pido a dios que tenga piedad
Yo le pido al viento que me de su calma
Yo le pido a tu corazon el perdon
Yo te pido a ti

Yo le pido a dios que me de bendicion
Yo le pido al viento que respire tu voz
Yo le pido a mi corazon el perdon

Por seguir amandote
Amor, sigo amandote
Amor, abrazame otra vez

INTERPRETATION

"The Arrogant’s Affair"

Throughout the night, I see him. Talking. Laughing. Smiling. The life of the party. Gregarious. Handsome. So the man I fell in love with at twenty-seven. The sound of his voice intoxicates me. Takes me back to a time when we were together two beautiful tumultuous years. At the party, I am so enthralled I follow him with my eyes. As I talk to someone, I follow him with my ears; I pay attention to his voice just to know where he is at all times. The rumor is: he’s single. But, he brought his ex. It confuses me. I ignore it. (Within the marrow of my bones) I still hope. At one point we come together at the kitchen counter. We cut limes for rounds of tequila. We both smile. Small-talk. Recall a past memory. Then off we each go to our group of friends. Throughout the night, I see him.

Everyone at the party poses for one last snapshot. He stands behind me as we all smile. I can feel the comfort of his presence, his body next to mine. I don't see the ex. So, I lean back to feel him. My friend holds up a sign from a sing-along we sang earlier. In big bold letters it says, “No regrets, just love.”

“Smile!” Snapshot. Goodbyes.

I wake up. My head throbs. My body aches. My face is puffy. It’s the aftermath and my home is a wreck. Bit by bit, I attempt to put things back together again. Everywhere: half empty glasses, uneaten cake, mounds of beer bottles. A dark film of sticky muck coats the floor. I unwrap unopened gifts—I am now thirty-five.

I do not forgive myself. It’s very unfortunate. My arrogance expects to be forgiven. Like a fat diabetic baker who over indulges, I’ve gotten too used to making my own cake and eating it, too. It seems I find it necessary to taste every sweet thing that comes my way. And, it makes me sick.

I regret everything.

—Joaquin Lopez