My Young Foolish Heart is a puzzle of 1500 pieces of the desert. It’s like coming home, after a long and terrible day, full of ordinary things and words, or silences and memories, desires and frustrations. Let’s say a normal, ordinary day. And we get home and open a small box, with the pieces of a puzzle, with almost identical pieces that blend in with the color of the table and the color of the hands. And then, there, in front of that undone desert, with the day on our backs, we begin the task. And late, very late, after spending long hours looking to place together all the pieces, almost at dawn, you realize that a piece is missing. Just one. And it is not on the table, or underneath, or between your hands, or in the box. It just isn’t there. And you sit next to the window to see how it dawns. And when the dream begins to invade you, you dream of the piece, you see where it is, you finally find it. It is there, nailed to your heart. And in that moment you wake up and you know that there are more than a million pieces missing in your life. And that most likely you will not complete any of all those puzzles that you have set out to put together in life.

Because there is someone, out there, inside you, who does not leave you alone. Someone that always makes their own decisions and that goes against the current, that has nothing to do with your head and that has their own language and their own rhythm. Your heart. Your young foolish heart. For which neither time nor change of place passes, and that despite having had disastrous experiences insists on continuing to cling to what has already hurt him millions of times. Moron. Without logics. Blind. Deaf. I live, more than yourself. Young man. Strong. Innocent. Opened. Young, more than yourself. Heart. More than yourself, sweetheart. And you get up, you frame the puzzle of the desert without the last piece and you go out to the street. To work. Or to let the heart decide something else and take you far away, to find another heart with whom to share the absence of pieces. In an ordinary day that at any moment could turn into an extraordinary day. Perhaps it is enough just to find a red dress, standing out from the gray of daily life for the world to change and turn in the opposite direction. Finding that is not by chance, by chance is something else. That is playing with destiny.

At the end of the day, I suppose that each head is a world. But I am sure that each heart is a universe. It is difficult to think that there can be a link, between the head and the heart, between the world and the universe, I suppose that there will always be an abyss between REASON and LOVE.

And right in that abyss, six characters are playing with destiny. A red dress, a sticker pack of kangaroos, a Gulasch, Mick Jagger, a burgundy sweatshirt, a dream, a picture duct taped to the wall, a leak, a children’s TV show with a doll named Sandmann , two Doris and several puzzle pieces. This is a story of Sex and Crime. That is, a love story

HUGO ARREVILLAGA SERRANO