I love you and I will not forget, Enrique Symns

The first time I learned of its existence was one summer in silver seatwenty years ago, reading one of his interviews in the rolling stone. I thought he was a man of unique lucidity and I immediately asked Iván, my husband at the time, if he knew him.

“Henri? Of course, I know him. When we come back to Buenos Aires, I will introduce them”.

We first met in a dressing room and months later, by chance, in the british bar.

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It was love at first sight. I knew that day I would love her forever. We exchanged phone numbers and started seeing each other very frequently. He would come home (usually when Ivan was on tour), we would go out to eat in the neighborhood and talk for hours about books, his friends (who almost always ended up being his enemies), music, drugs, loneliness and sorrow. During this period he also lived in the south and in Mar del Plata and we spent months without seeing each other, but we always communicated by e-mail. He wrote briefly and forcefully:

I experienced the problem of living alone the other day, when I fell at Palacios and could only get up with his help.

A hug, my dear and greetings to your father.

I thought you were coming to the show. I love you anyway.

I turned to Mardel. Buenos Aires shocked me.

How’s it going? No erotic or amorous novelties?

A sadness like a blind well. I think it has to do with doing nothing. I miss you more than I see you when I see you. I do not know what to do.

The second sex. That should be the name of your show, in a serious country with serious television.

See you tomorrow.

I can barely move. Total shit, a kiss.

Happy friends day. Although the calendar is an evil invention, friendship is not. May the abyss, demons or luck bring us another encounter.

I love you and I don’t forget.

Me too, Henry.

I read you, I smile and I don’t forget.

Goodbye dear friend.

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