The Best is Yet to Come

The fury within me breaks away the pieces of our love. Fiery and intense, it is broken in half thanks to your sudden educational abandonment. Had you just askd, I would have gone with you forever. The time we face is a time of cultural abandonment and a timein which success rather than happiness is to be sought after. Sweetheart, I was your culture; I was your everything but in one moment I became your nothing. We abandon ourselves when we leave other behind. When we refuse to be who we truly are we leave ourselves behind with everyone else who do no matter anymore. We refuse our own individualism and lose ourselves along the way as well as everything else. You may have abandoned and ridiculed me consciously but you wil soon fall into the deep black hole of questioning. Abandon my skin, never trace your fingers around it again, never again feel my lips brush against yours and never again be yourself. Breathe deeply and perhaps you will come back. After all, breathing does make blood go to the brain. Maybe a little bloody stimulation is all you need after all.

Ni yo, Viviana...

Solitude. Loneliness. Unhappiness. How ungrateful I have been to my constant companion! Anger. Sadness. Depression. How can I not appreciate you for brinigng me such woe? Nunca serás nada, Viviana, porque tu no eres nada, sólo polvo como dicen. That's not true! I am a writer. Si, ¡una que no puede ni terminar una novela! But that's not fair! Writing a piece like that is very painful! ¡Maldita melancólica de mierda! ¿No tienes amigos? ¿No tienes a quien te escuche? Ni tus proios padres te pueden soportar. Y tu hermana...ella sólo habla contigo para tenerte a su lado. ¡Enfréntalo, mi amor! Estás más sola que el número uno. That may be true but as soon as I get into college all of that will change. I'll be able to be myself there. I'll start over! ¡Porfa-fucking-vor! ¿Con el 1500 que scastes en el SAT tu piensas entrar a Yale? Estarás soñando, querida. Nunca te escaparás de aquí mi vida. Nadie te quiere. Mira a tu ex... Mucho hizo que te cogió pena y se quedó contigo por un rato pero después de nueve meses contigo (a el le parecieron 10, ¿te acuerdas?) no te pudo soportar más. Y aquel que tu pensabas que podrías chichar para pasarla bien...ni ese feosio de mierda te quiere a ti, canto de nymphomaniática. Tu, pila de mierda, estás completamente sola. Y tu pensabas que por lo menos me tenías a mi de tu lado.. ¡Ha! Ni en tus sueños, imbécil. Te jodistes canto de quedá. Ah y una cosita más: nunca lo vas a tener; mejor quitatelo de tu mente ahora como hubieras hecho hace dos años. ¡Adios, pendeja!

The Party Upstairs

Funny how I'm all alone, yet they are all together. I am an involuntary solitary. My friends? They don't know the real me. I try, I really do, to let myself be known to them, but, all in vain. Just a slight revealing makes them distant and ignorant. All in all, my "friends" are not my real friends, since they know me not. Thinking truthfully, I'd rather them not know who I am. I am a failed writer, a philosopher - a thinker. I am not nearly as what I ought to be. I never finish any projects. I fancy myself smart, yet I feel like a fail class compared to those who truly are smart by nature. I am confused. I am alone.

There is a party upstairs. All I hear are people laughing and talking, loudly. I think back at all the opportunities I had to be like one of those people who enjoy life and then I regret not making friends with the popular crowd, not accepting to hang out with them or go to parties with them simply because I thought I was above them. Am I? Let's see: They have fun, they are faithful friends, they enjoy life; I, on the other hand, don't have fun, do not have loyal friends, and I do not enjoy life. Who's winning here? The "philosophical writer" or the popular air-head? I think we all came to the same conclusion here. Lonely bitter me has achieved nothing in this miserable life, while they have achieved life and friendship. The party is upstairs; I am downstairs.