I remember once, before we got to know each other on a deeper level, she asked me, "Have you ever loved?" That time, I lied, I said I had because I felt stupid saying otherwise because what twenty-year old dude hasnt experienced such great emotion by the time? Time passed on and she slowly let me become part of her life, she shared with me, she confided in me things that others would not have. I did the same, I shared with her all I really had; which was my ideas and thoughts and the short moments of my life in pictures and words. We became really cool and once you invited me to your house for a sleepover numerous amount of times; I was scared shitless. What did she mean a "sleepover"? Thoughts raced through my mind and I ended up postponing the event until you forgot the idea. You began to know me a little more and one night you and I ended up together in a couch with my blanket. I felt super excited! Your perfume captivated me and you were there with me willing to share those moments with me. I felt amazing knowing someone gave a shit about me. We would have these late night talks about getting to know each other and then you confessed you kind of had a crush on me. I felt like a badass that night, to know that someone felt like this about me! But I tried to pull away from caring about you as a person many times, because I was scared; I feared to live and feel.
I somehow managed to find out more things about your life, things you didnt share with me directly. This, I think, is the source of jealousy; to want to have more of a person. In reality, we share with everyone a piece of ourselves, a David is shared with a friend, but only a little bit of David not the entire David. I somehow felt you mine and felt jealous I didnt get that side of you, which you shared with others. This jealousy made me doubt my whole existence; my one true friend and you. I became distant for a while; I wanted to detach myself of the whole thing rather than fix it. I thought I knew of Buddhism and about attaching one self to people and things but I was damn wrong. Somehow, again, I found relief and you where still there wanting to share yourself with me; I accepted. We continued to talk more and one time you told me that you wanted me in your life forever, that you loved me, and asked if I felt weirded out by your declarations. I said I loved you too because you cared about me and I believed in only one thing; love. That I didnt find it weird to be part of your life in a more intimate way. Things seemed really nice so far and one night when you went to watch a meteor shower I confessed my fantasy of being with you, of my fetishes, kinks, and state of sexuality. I began to feel wanted or at least understood and not ridiculed for being how I was. Now, you really knew me or at least a side of me. Eventually I found myself finding more things of you and feeling jealous again. I wanted to own you; I wanted to own a person. What the fuck was I doing?
You invited me to your house for the first time and I was nervous again. What was going to happen? I cant even remember why I went to your place that night! I met your dad and we walked your dog, I was so thirsty I bought myself a pina-colada Sobe that night! I left and nothing but a walk happened. We talked even more about life and about each other for the next few days. More time passed by and you would confide with me your unhappiness; and I my desire to help you, to make you feel happy. Eventually we organized a walk in the forest on a friday night. I was dying of fear, what would I do? What was going to happen? What the fuck! I must confess that night I acquired some "rubbers" (hahaha) because I felt like something would happen. But we walked and talked and I laid on the grass while you sat and look out at the dark and nothing happened. I took you home and felt like a jerk later because I didnt walk you to your house or opened the door for you, stuff like that! I felt stupid for trying to pretend to know what the fuck I was doing. On the way back to your place you heard me speak spanish and later told me I sounded cool speaking spanish and that you liked it. This again gave me hope in myself. But time passed and again I found even more things and I must admit I was angry like a motherfucker.
One evening, you said you were making rice pudding; and I craving for dessert, but mostly wanting to see you asked if I could have some! So, I left and went to your house very excited! I was going to get to spend somet time with you and have rice pudding! But somehow you were busy emptying out your closet and I ended playing video games with your dad the whole time! I came to spend time with you not with your dad! I felt angry and alone I wanted to be with you! So, I left hurt, that night I told you that I felt horrible for you leaving me with your dad. Its not that I dont like your dad or anything but its just that I really wanted to be with you. So I left that night without you and without rice pudding! I felt envious of those who could have you, it wasnt until I felt this pain that I started writing that cheap poetry. Around this time you had stopped talking to me for a while; I dont know why. I at first didnt understand and didnt see it and probably bothered you more than once. I somehow found shelter in writing my pain. It was the poems I read in my literature class which took this loneliness away. I wrote those to share with you how I felt, in a cool way. I only gave you four poems I wrote but in reality I wrote around twenty but didnt see the others coherent and you never got those. I felt so lonely during these times that others would notice. Me! The master of hiding my sad reality, was failing now! I slowly started to realize what I felt for you; it wasnt true love like I used to envision it. It was something else, it hurt and it didnt feel nice at all! Then one of those nights you managed to write to me and tell me that I was the one you needed, that I was the one that listened. I felt loved again, only to find out about other things that made me feel jealous and again your distance. I wrote more and more and thought about you even more. I once even wrote about giving up on you, but I think that renunciation poem spoke more of me giving up on my-self that wanted to own you. That week I talked with my friend about drinking because it was my country's independence; I lied, it was because of you. I had never drinked before in my life EVER! I was doing these things I had, months ago, never saw myself doing because of a realization.
I realized, when you left me for a while, something very important. I came to understand the theory of the "self". I had found the "self", the being which was purely selfish; the being that made me jealous, hateful, and all other bad things. Some say this is the hardest to find and destroy. I had found it and sought to destroy what hurt me. This "self" made me want to hate, to lie, to doubt, to envy, to want to own, to kill; to do all the things that hurt this world. I decided to commit suicide; I was going to kill my-self. And I did so by remembering what I once had learned from Philosophy. I somehow managed to kill that which produced evil in me and I knew it was gone because I felt free. I wanted to dance, I wanted to love and live with no fear of consequences. This was when I decided I shall celebrate the death of what kills humanity; the selfishness was gone. That renunciation poem made me re-evaluate if I was true to myself and it was with it that I managed to kill the self. That night we drank, my friend and his cousin and I felt free. I took my notebook to read to them your poem and they heard my words and pain. I told you my plan to go out and drink with him and celebrate the Independence earlier that week. You said that night "be safe" and we briefly talked about selfless love. That you wished to find someone with a true passionate love like that of the geisha and samurai. Later on that night I wanted to show you how free I was this time; that I had found myself. That I had destroyed that which made me feel embarrassed about myself; that which kept me from doing the things I always wanted to do. So that night we went to the galleria and skated like I had not done so in years! I fell, bruised, and embarrassed myself but I did not care at all. That night, my friend, asked me if I wanted to go to where you were; in that University because there was a lingerie party! I was like FUCK YES! I wanted to see you and celebrate the independence with those I cared about; but it wasnt until the next day, Saturday. So we skated and drank until it was time to go and the night ended with a harsh event. I wrote to you that night and confessed my pain for you; I could tell you this because I no longer felt like this. I wonder what you think when I write to you?
Next day came up and the week passed with no major contact between you and I. Just simple "hellos" and whatnot. Anyways, with this new-found happiness and freedom I wrote the Moon and the Sea. A lot had changed in my life, it was evident in the works. This was happy and calm; not forced. I love this piece, I was calm and happy when I wrote it; I finished it in one evening on note cards. One night I tried to share my happiness with you but I knew something was up; that you did not feel happy. You told me that night that what about you? What about those people? That you were grateful to have me in your life. I realized how blind I had been how selfish I still was. The next day I found out more things about you that made me feel like dying again; I was mad at myself. I thought I had killed that fucker! I thought my jealousy was gone but I guess it wasnt! I still hadnt given you that renunciation poem and I tweaked it a little now with these new emotions. I felt so jealous and angry but I re-read some of the other poems and thoughts I wrote about you that I destroyed later on that day in rage! In there I found traces of the "Self", with this anger towards me I destroyed those thoughts and dependency of the "self". I felt better already. I talked to a fellow thinker and he told me I wasnt the same; I confessed him that it had been for a girl that I had lost my ways. I realized I had changed, that I had lost that passion; not really lost but misplaced it. I grabbed onto some ideas and reality and rose the old flag of rebellion. I found my old ideas and started to care less and truly "kill" the self that was left. I had now truly been freed of that fucker. I have no clue if it will come back one day or not but for today I can say it is gone.
I just realized this is too damn long to start writing about what slavery and love is; I guess I will have to postpone it AGAIN!
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