All the boys remembered it because he always told stories. It is said that two of them, who met by chance at a party, began to recall their emotional experiences, and wide after a drunken conversation, concluded that both had left her. It was through this story of stories through which evoked, in unison, the features of Priscilla. Beautiful, yes, but a disturbing beauty, absent. As if she were the one hand, and the near perfection of his face on the other,
complementing without becoming one. In the most unexpected moment, enunciated that "imagine if ..." I was always the prelude and another of his stories, so that at the time remember, it was almost impossible to separate, or even distinguish, the sum of actual experiences narrated by her, those stories in which his enthusiasm, usually quite subsided, kindled the brilliant words are recited almost by heart. When asked where it came from those stories, she was silent. Vaguely mentioned an old relationship, not as the source of all his stories, but as the genesis of their creative abilities. And what used to inspire jealousy their partners, as it was during their moments of ecstasy when the figure of Priscilla was clear that air of impenetrability. As if it were only available in those moments where, they suspected, the memory of another running down their language in words. When he finished, his eyes remained fixed on the speaker for a few seconds. Perhaps waiting for answers, perhaps to try and lock in their silence thousands of words that could no longer give out, or perhaps trying to remember, simply, if that story was actually yours. Then again around its insurmountable beauty. And silent. 
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