Dear Elena,
I remember your most favorite album. You gave it to me because I liked it and you had listened to it too much. I still have it. Somehow I lost it for awhile and then when I found it I kept forgetting to give it back. My favorite song was "Femme Like You." This guy with bad tattoos sings in French with a little English mixed in here and there. The tattoo on his left arm reads, "Guilty for being the best." We drove around at night and listened to the whole album over and over.
You would wait patiently while I listened to the first couple tracks that I was just learning and loving. As soon as they were over you'd skip to track 5.
I remember your most favorite album. You gave it to me because I liked it and you had listened to it too much. I still have it. Somehow I lost it for awhile and then when I found it I kept forgetting to give it back. My favorite song was "Femme Like You." This guy with bad tattoos sings in French with a little English mixed in here and there. The tattoo on his left arm reads, "Guilty for being the best." We drove around at night and listened to the whole album over and over.
You would wait patiently while I listened to the first couple tracks that I was just learning and loving. As soon as they were over you'd skip to track 5.
Youi'd drift off in thought and curl up in the passenger seat and look out the window. I'd keep driving. And trying to learn to speak in French.
If it weren't for you, I'd never have learned a song about being "Femme" from a person who actually is from France. And I wouldn't have known someone as "Femme", "Like You." I know if you were reading this right now, you'd laugh so much. You would be embarrassed that I am happy to talk about who you are, loving who you are.
Miss you.
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