I like the word, rechifla.
Me rechifla el cine, you said.
The term is perfect for me. I fell in love with Santo films on Sundays. They were perfect for those good versus evil mandarin days. And when I didn’t get the cute guy at 16, $5 gave me a piece of John Hughes heaven. Five dollars went far in those days, I felt smart with Zhang Yimou’s red lanterns. I got high with Wong Kar- Wai.
I discovered you in Krzysztof Kieślowski films. You were the blue candy wrap….. the string on Veronique’s hand. I waited too fucking long to touch you. I was five Julio Medem years away from you. I wanted to be your Lucia all night and your red-headed Clementine Kruczynski from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind all day.
Now we share strong coffee and clean house on Sunday and feed two big, fat cats. We argue about Y Tu Mamá También while folding laundry. I love it, you hate it. Sometimes we hold each other tight in the kitchen and fill the little hole on that Angkor Wat wall we saw in a film.