Pieces of you, given away.
Thursday, 01/16/03 - 12:16 pm.

I forgot to mention yesterday that Veronica came to visit me...she skipped her UCA math course just to do that. Isn't she cute? I so wanted to see you!. Gee, thank you so much *tear*

AND, that my brother Carlos told me: for the record, I searched Amazon.com for Aerosmith calendars but they hadn't listed any.

I was touched by his kind intentions, but also pissed at amazon.com. They suck, they always fuck our orders up and everything I want is out of stock or they just don't have it.

Oh, well fuck.


This conversation was held last night, between D and I (It's some kind of digest). There's a part about "giving pieces of you away" that is not of my inspiration. It was actually something I learned yesterday at the UCA, from a woman who's a writer, and read something for the class.

*text* = means the thoughts of my voices and I.

- Him: No. You're not a prostitute at all. Why's that question? who told you that?
- Me: Somebody seems to consider me one. It's nothing, I just wanted third parties' opinion.
- Him: I want to hit somebody...I have the strenght (I haven't masturbated in so long...) *thank you for sharing that with us*
- Me: That's where your strenght comes from then. Hit me. There's a part of your body that, if punched, makes you pass out.
- Him: Ha. *pause* Are you ok?
- Me: in what sense?

***long pause***

- Me: I got a new Aerosmith book today!
- Him: Congratulations. I want to print out The Lord Of The Rings, go to P!nk's concert, get all of the Saint Seiya chapters out there and be unhappier.
- Me: Somewhere in your capitalist plans you'll find a slice of happiness.
- Him: Doubt it. Happiness doesn't exist.
- Me: That's what you say. You think happiness is a permanent state. It lasts seconds. Don't close your eyes so often for so long.
- Him: Yeah...well, you got a point. That's so true. I'm sorry.
- Me: Go look for something that makes you happy. It makes me happy to see Steven meditating.
- Him: There was a person from the entertainment bussiness that I loved...but then I hated her because she's Britney Spear's close friend.
- Me: Don't connect everything you like with what you dislike or you'll be screwed.
- Him: Maybe. But that doesn't lead you to happiness either.
- Me: No. But you're still screwed. It's an inch backwards.
- Him: I don't want to talk about happiness anymore. Sorry. But...
- Me: That's ok.
- Him:...I'm empty. *that sounds so familiar to me*
- Me: Of course you are. You go through life giving away pieces of yourself. Sometimes it's not a mutual thing, so you end up without the piece of the other person's, and without your own.
- Him: I have problems with people. With relationships with humans. *don't we all?*
- Me: Well, it happens. But like someone said: "what you call 'problems' are in fact, lessons". So there you go. Learn.
- Him: Ha.
- Me: Have you seen the moon?
- Him: Yes, it's almost full. I looked at it at around 5 o'clock. Let's hope for it to be happy.
- Me: It is, when it's in half. The bright half looks like a smile, those huge grins like watermelon slices. *and like Simeon's smile*

***He sets his status to 'away' for a while***

- Him: Tell me...what would make you happy? *Oh, God, so many things...Aerosmith, apple pies, looking at the sky, being with my favorite people, The Beatles....you...*
- Me: I don't think a lot about that. Things that make me happy just...happen. What about you?
- Him: *let's make it short: he loved to play Uno with some of his friends*. That's one of my best memories of them...but of course, that can't happen anymore.
- Me: But it happened.
- Him: That's what counts. It was nice.
- Me: Nice.
- Him: .
- Me: Yes. "it was nice...period".
- Him: I'd call it planet.
- Me: I'd call it Paul.
- Him: Tell me anything. *sorry, what?*
- Me: .
It's called Ringo *the period, you realize*.
- Him: He was a Beatle. *no kidding?*
- Me: I love him. He's cute *long story short: I sing fragments of "can't buy me love" and "I saw her standing there"*. When I die, the first person I'll look for will be John Lennon *because I'm hoping all of the Aerosmith members will be still alive*
- Him: I don't know. I'd probably look for my godmother.
- Me: How praiseworthy.
- Him: It is not.
- Me: Err...well, the Gatekepper will appreciate it.
- Him: '
- Me: His name is George.
- Him: Now she's just a memory. I can't see her like she was...I don't want to forget her.
- Me: you won't if you don't want to.
- Him: That's the problem.
- Me: Well, write her name down, and keep it in a drawer. Whenever you open the drawer, you'll think of her.
- Him: well, I have to go *yeah, he's certainly not the feedback type of person*. Good night. Thank you. Bye.
- Me: At your service.

And he logged out.

And I was kind of amazed because of the "thank you" (he never thanks me for anything...not for the christmas card, not for the Nine Lives album for his birthday...), and probably about the conversation as a whole. "Are you ok?", "what makes you happy?", "tell me anything" are sentences (ok, "questions" and sentence, excuse my ignorance) that I don't hear too often, specially when I need to hear them. Specially from him.

I cried in bed. I remembered how it feels to hug him. It's like he's a seashore, from where you can see the infinity of the ocean and the sky....it's like he's the top of a mountain, from where I can see it all.

But probably he forgot about the conversation as soon as he got off the computer. It's not like I'm his favorite person. It's not like our times together belong to his most treasured memories, as playing Uno with his friends does. The only thing that happened last night is that I was the nearest shoulder, the nearest ear for a couple of hours.

Simeon: at least you were.

At least.

After all, I couldn't help wondering where do brokenhearted people get more pieces of themselves to give to others, when everything inside of them is just broken, torn, slashed, hurt, lost.

I couldn't help feeling I had given a piece of me away. Again.

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