Tonight, tonight.

Tonight, tonight. Looking at the stars I can’t see because of pollution.

Tonight, I wish I was twelve again.

Yes, even if that means reliving the worst day of my life, i.e., when I came face to face with the downside of being a woman.

Even if that means acne and calculus.

Yes, even if that means watching stupid American teen movies like “She’s All That” or “Ten Things I Hate About You”, worshiping NOFX, MxPx, No Use For A Name and the likes, as well as that “Buffy” guy – what’s his name - all over again.

Yes, even if that means getting rejected at school and thinking, for real, without any cognition about anything that, for real, this is the end of my life.

Yes, even if all that. Because that would mean you would still be there, healthy, smiling and warmer than any blanket.

Because it would mean that you could spend hours talking to me, that you could bring me to the park and push me on the swing like you used to do when I was even younger after the adults were done eating lunch, just for the sake of the old times.

Because it would mean that there would still be years, years of seeing you, seeing you smile, staying here with me when others that should have done so left. Seeing you slowly taking the place of a father way afters your years, and seeing you getting, slowly, softly, getting old, getting tired; so gracefully, yet so inexorably, like cotton ball-like snow’s dance to the ground.

Tonight, tonight.