It didn't matter how many women there were, how much skin he passed through his hands or how much alcohol he consumed, he felt lost, he had lost you, he had lost the America's Cup, all the pain accumulated in the ceremony.

Colombia in second place, it was worth the effort but it was not enough... and if you were there you would console him, if you were there, if you wore his shirt, if you wiped his tears and told him what a good player he was...

The trip on the plane had been long, not to mention the ride on the bus, and the taxi to his mother's house, his heart was heavy, he was home but without his house, without his support...and it hurt like hell. He took out his cell phone and typed in your chat, letting his fingers guide themselves.

"Hey amor" "how are you? How have you been?" "I got home today" "My mom asked me about you" "I miss you" "You don't know how much I miss you"