She saw him in the eyes and the more she did it, the harder it was to recognize him. His face faded away in her memories. The pain maked him unrecognizable. She waited but not a single tear fell away.

She walked her way thru, from her house to her workplace, to the café with her friends, to the club, back home; over an over again. He looked, she was making her life, building a career, finding love, forgeting that he existed. But she didn't. She was just running away from his presence in that city of no one. The one that tooked him away.

She hid from the papers, the televisión, the sad leaflets on the streets where he looked so empty as a ghost that never was his brother.

He never died, she carried him on the heavy bag of rage, misery, resignation and pure regret that was always with her. She lived with him, till the last moment, till the last leaflet flew away like he never was there. As his phantom desapeered just as his body.

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Mexico is beauty but it’s also pain. Pain from the families that lose her love ones over a over again. Mexico is love but is also the rage towards the injustice and corruption. It wasn’t me today but it can be me tomorrow. We know who they are, we know why they do it, we are not sure how to stop them.

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