Daily Downpour- Una carta que no vas a entender nunca.

Imaginate que poder tienes sobre mi que quiero escribirte algo. No le he escrito a nadie en casi cinco años, y ahora te quiero escribir. A lo mejor es el nombre... Yo deberia estar trabajando pero tengo que sacar esto. Tienes que saberlo, aunque realmente no lo vayas a saber porque no creo que le vayas a entender a esto, aunque lo pongas en traductor. Algun dia no tendre miedo y lo escribire en tu idioma, para que lo sepas y no te quede la menor duda. Estabamos dispuestas a odiarte. Yo te tuve celos, envidia. tienes mas tiempo aqui, se conocen mejor, y eso me duele mas de lo que quiero decir. Siento que sobro muchas veces, que solo soy un catalizador. Ya se, es estupido. Pero asi funciona mi logica, y me ha pasado tantas veces que ya no se que creer. No puedo compararte con nadie, porque por nadie habia sentido lo que siento por ti. Y no mames, me da muchisimo miedo. Eres la primera persona para la que quiero ser TODO. Quiero tenerte aqui y estar contigo, apretarte contra mi, tenerte en mis brazos y sentir tu piel, besarte los ojos, las mejillas, el cuello, los hombros...quiero tenerte aqui. Quiero ser algo unico y diferente para ti. Duele tenerte de lejos, desearte de lejos. Y aunque no lo quiero decir, aunque esto es, de algun modo, lo que yo queria, duele compartirte. Tengo miedo de que te puedan ofrecer mas que yo, y y me quede siendo solo eso que todos toman por sentado. Porque al final, creo que asi es. Y es asi porque yo lo he permitido, es cierto. Cuando algo duele, prefiero sonreir y guardarmelo hasta que el dolor se haga insoportable, porque quiero que la gente que amo sea feliz. Pero yo tambien quiero ser feliz. Y quiero ser feliz contigo. Si, hago planes a futuro. Y si, quiero irme contigo, estar ahi, empezar algo nuevo. He estado a punto de decir "casate conmigo porque te amo. Como nadie mas", pero me estoy tomando las cosas muy en serio, supongo. Hasta a mi me da miedo. Tu apenas estas asumiendo que estas enamorada de mi, cuando yo ya me sumergí por completo en el hecho. Huele a corazón roto, dice Amanda, pero la neta ya me vale madres. Si se rompe esta vez, ya no lo quiero arreglar. Te estoy escribiendo lo que siento. Dices que me va a hacer bien, y quiero creer que si. Me ayuda a descargar, a sentirme bien. Y a la vez me hace sentir culpable, me enfrenta con todo lo que siento, bueno o malo. Es Fara vs. Nega-Fara. A lo mejor la llevo a tomar un trago y nos hacemos amigas, quien sabe. Nega-Fara da miedo y provoca lástima.
Yo se que no te quiero perder. Que diga lo que diga, no se siente igual, no es lo mismo con el que contigo que con nadie. Y quisiera que fuera igual, la verdad. Quisiera saber que sientes, que piensas, que opinas...
Quisiera, de vez en cuando, oir cosas bonitas como las que yo digo. Es egoista y estupido, pero a veces quiero oirlo, no lo puedo evitar.
Tecleo. Tecleo rapido poque estoy escribiendo todo lo que siento disfrazado de una carta de amor. O es al revez? Ya no se.
No me queria enamorar de ti. La neta es que ya no me queria enamorar de nadie, ya no tengo ni animos ni aliento para volverme a lastimar.
Dicen que esto de lejos no va a funcionar. Y menos con tantos involucrados. Yo no se. Yo quiero que si. Creo que si. Y si no, no quiero perderte asi. Tu hermana, tu amiga y tu otra mitad. Eso quiero ser siempre. Quiero estar contigo, a tu lado, y no tener que irme.
Pero sera el destino quien diga lo que pasa. Y en manos de Ezili dejo mi corazón, esperando que ella vea los deseos mas profundos en el, y me conceda el alcanzarlos, con mi eterna gratitud y servicio.
Te robaste mas de mi corazón de lo que te correspondia inicialmente, princesa. Te convertiste, sin esfuerzo, en La Esposa Favortia.
La idea era que compartieras, hermosa, no que te robaras el 70% de mi corazón, la mitad de mi cerebro y mi alma entera.

Te AMO, desgraciada. Mas de lo que me debería.

tu Fara

"Everything's a Copy of a Copy of a Copy...."

Coffee. Coffee's keeping me alive. Taurin-based drinks are now out of the question because apparently they're diabetic poison. Go figure.
I'm living a double life. I play pretend from 11 to 2, a makeshift "9 to 5" job that pays everything my monthly allowance doesn't. Trustfund baby, some would say. Spoiled brat, perhaps. A job is not a job because of the job itself, but because of the money. Money makes things easier.

When work's over, my Sister and I return home and have lunch. We talk about everything and nothing, I spill my secrets to her like they were just words, with no meaning or background. She says nothing. Gives advice, shows that she cares, shares her own secrets...it's my confidence time.

let's go back to my job. If you put it into perspective, it's the greatest job in the world: three hours a day, five days a week, shredding documents and stacking boxes that give you mild allergies for 100 pesos a day. That makes 500 a week. If you add it to the money they gave me for my birthday, it's quite a bit. Money, money, money. And I have gifts to buy. And things to get.
Money to spend, in the end.
Coffee, coffee. I hadn't had coffee in weeks. The cup is cold and it tastes funny, but coffee's coffee.
The spinning and whirring of the paper shredder give me ideas. I want to build a massive shredder. A people shredder. I know who I'd put in it, and how I'd make it. Blood would be filtered from the crushed bones and squishy flesh, and poured into...well, poured somewhere. Gruesome but effective, no one would recognize the bodies.
Part Ramona Flowers, part Amanda Young and part Lisbeth Salander. In the facade of little vampire Claudia.
I want to change the world in many levels. I want to discover something, but I also want to leave a scar on the face of Earth, in the common record of humanity. I want to be known for having made good, but feared for my crimes under a name that no one will ever relate to me. No one would ever know.
Polyamori. It will work for me.
But I still want to be the favorite. Her favorite.

Blue hair and a dragon tattoo. Cutting and licking off my own blood. ADD and some kind of autism, a total submersion in my own little word.
I want to write. I'm getting a portable recorder to keep track of my ideas and then write them out. It should work, I've always been a talkative one.
The dark skinned man caught my eye. And he's supposed to be around my age. Handsome, brings Claire memories of an old crush, an unrequited love that never went past silent admiration and fear of rejection.
And then we wonder why we don't get laid.
The heart keeps them locked and watched, never wanting to let go. But the body begs for attention that it can no longer get for itself. The burning touch of a foreign heart. The thrill of physical intensity. Nice to meet you, now get the fuck out, you're not the one I love. "A full-body dildo", Amanda would say.
Ranting helps inspiration. It won't come any other way.
I'm going to kill my father on a story. Or watch him die. And I'm kind of excited about it. I already have his tape:
"Hello, Jorge, and welcome to your test. Right there, on the other side of that window, your daughter is sitting, connected to a device that will end her life if she moves. Her death, however, would bring you effortless salvation, a salvation that, in my judgement, you don't deserve. All the times you've sat back and watched her suffer, using the things she confides you as a weapon to get what you want, never caring about anyone's well-being but your own. Today, you'll pay for your actions. You'll have to fight for your life, or put your trust on the daughter you've neglected and hurt for nineteen years. Live or die, Jorge, it's your choice."

Not like he'll know. Or care.

"Is she not right? Is she insane? Will she now run for her life, now that she's lied to me?"
I'd run for fun.

I'm too much woman for just one person to handle. I've been told. I believe it. And I like it. Too many faces of one alone. And then too many girls in one. Too much for someone normal. Too much for even myself.
Sometimes I'm that mess people feel fascinated and repelled about. Almost like a room in an abandoned house, or the abandoned house itself. Like a horror movie, you're scared of being scared but you can't help liking it. A little escape from reality. An overload to the senses and the mind. When handled right.
I kind of crossdressed today, and I look like a very cute boy. With red nails, but that came later. This morning, I was a very cute twelve year old boy. A guilty pleasure on cold days.
So, to sum it all up:

- I'll write something good, discover something important about how people who speak many languages think and feel.
- A job nowadays is like going to the toilet: we hate it, it's fucking nasty and a waste of time, but it's necessary to survive.
- I got a pair of kick ass boots. And it's fucking cold down here, so I get to wear whatever the fuck I want.
- I'll play Ramona for a bit, where my looks are concerned.
- Polyamori may only work while I'm 19, but I firmly believe that whatever comes out of it will be the best for us.
- Blue IS my color. And red, too.
-Putamadre, la amo como no tienen idea. Nadie.
-c'est finis

Operating

Coffee at nights normally leads to anxiety attacks, which in turn become panic attacks. It's almost like sex, how the tension builds up, then it peaks into panic, horror, the certainty that I'm going to die. Then it dissipates slowly and I feel exhausted, but I kind of want more.
Some other times, though, coffee at nights leads to introspection.
Fuck, my spelling sucks and nobody tells me anything! I know English is not my first language, but it’s not a valid excuse. I need to do it perfectly.
I was watching The Simpsons earlier today, that episode in which Lisa meets this kid who’s better than her at everything she loves, and I swear I saw myself in Lisa. I’m obsessive-compulsive, and I know my own capacities and limitations. This is an endless source of frustration, because lately, I haven’t been living up to my potential. I’ve let external factors affect me to a point in which fear of failure has me stuck to my bed.

I’ll make this clear: competition is something I won’t tolerate. If there’s the slightest hint of threat, I’ll kill myself to prove that I am the best, because that is what I aim for. I can’t be second best. And I know it’s fucked up, but that’s how I am. Then place Red into the equation, sit back and enjoy the fireworks.

“I’m not jealous, I’m merely territorial”

And Red just asked me what’s happening to me. The Fae she moved in with was not this beaten, frightened girl. The Fae she chose as a host was strong, outspoken, active…
Where is Fae, and what has this carcass of a girl done with her?
Well…apparently, we just found her. She was buried under a huge bundle of fear, hiding in dreams and ideas that she’d never make come true, because dreams can’t fail.
Well, time to wake up, princess. Life won’t find you here, go and show the bitch what you’re made of. Life’s a rollercoaster, and I want to see you screaming through that ride.
Tomorrow, we go back to red.

And we ain't no goddamn princess. We deserve to be Queen.I want to be Ramona Flowers.