Monday, 01/13/03 - 8:11 pm.
January 13th...did I talk about this date last year?...I can't remember, maybe I did.
Everybody in an earthquake has a story to tell, but I must admit mine wasn't tragic in any way. Thank God.
I was at the UCA cafeteria. Early. Working with Victor. Waiting for him to arrive. Hoping he would.
I felt his hands shaking my head. Then he went to the table nearby, where there were some of his friends (his best friends, Norman and Fo, and two of the girls he seems to love to be with because they're funny, pretty and kind of horny).
He sat on the table nearby, and all I could see from him was his back. I kept talking to Victor like nothing, but I couldn't help noticing he was putting his arm around one of the girls. I didn't care, and kept on talking to Victor about music and other random shit (I realized I was talking just because).
Five minutes later, he was standing up, picking up his backpack and shaking Norman's hand. I'd covered my face with my hair. I guess he forgot I was there. He just walked away.
I had better things to take care of, and throughout the entire afternoon I tried to focus on other things. I must admit, it wasn't that hard.
But then I came home...and I broke down. I cried. Lord, I cried so much. I felt disappointed, angry, worthless, ugly....hurt. He didn't even say goodbye to me. That says a lot, huh?
I curled up on the floor, with the lights off, listening to Push Comes To Shove, twice. That's a great song to cry to. I always feel Steven's talking to me (leave me alone, let me enjoy it). I felt I was bleeding. My eyes were flooding. My heart was torn. Why can't I just move on?
I hated myself. I hate myself.
The only comfort was Frog licking the palm of my hand. It always amuses how she gets close to me when I'm crying. Her abnormally HUGE eyes looking into mine...like he understood (maybe she does).
Tears stopped. I saw myself in the mirror...am I pretty? (At least Norman noticed my self-made haircut). I just stared at myself.
I know you...you always let people get away with their shit and hurt you.
And I hated myself even more.
Simeon, for the first time in a long time, didn't have words to go with the occassion.
If anything, I saw Pablo. He was at the UCA "just because". That cheered me up a lot. To hug him and feel his arms around me....I love this boy so much. He's beautiful. I feel so safe in his arms, I love the way he looks at me, the way he notices I try my best to comfort him...I love everything in him (even his lungs, even though he's a smoker).
He's not my crush.
He's my pony.
He's the only one who noticed the slashes on my arm (brand new, as of today). A?, he asked. I looked at the slashes. Damn, it is an "A".
(A = Aerosmith -duh-)
I told him it was pure fluke, I didn't mean to make it look like an A (oh, well). Then he walked up to me and showed me his arm. "E" (Elsy). Forever, he said. Yes. It's a permanent scar.
I forgot to tell, when D was leaving, Pink's Just Like A Pill came on the radio (playing in the background at the cafeteria). How appropiate, I thought.
That songs describes well my situation with him and self-mutilation.
I'm lying here, on the floor, where you left me....
I'm crying here, what have you done?
I can't stay on your morphine, cause it's making me itch.
Run, just as fast as I can, to the middle of nowhere, to the middle of my frustrated feelings, and I swear, you're just like a pill, instead of making me better, keep making me ill.
I haven't moved from the spot where he left me...not even an inch.
I looked at my slashed arm on the way home, and I thought how stupid.