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A strange passion, lust, platonic love ... I don't know how the fuck you can possibly feel passionate and lust after a person you only love in a platonic sense but hell, if I knew, it wouldn't make me this crazy.
I hate how he fucks with my mind. But I hate the fact that he hasn't fucked with my mind for quite some time even more. I love how he fucks with my mind in a way. I feel very ambigious towards him, it's difficult do describe, I don't think I can.
I wish I'd get an opportunity to talk to him again soon, I'd really love to. It's been so long since we last talked and he makes me laugh as I has to find now reading transcripts of our chats back in February that I found in my google documents. That guy makes me crazy. I know for sure that I am not in love with him, never have been, never will be, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. He is the cutest asshole I know, maybe because he isn't an asshole with me and just with others. If I could only find him online, talk to him. There is so much to talk about.
I remember how back in February he managed to interrupt me watching "Flashes Before Your Eyes" and then I was watching another episode of Lost, an older one I think on the computer a few days later and who signed on and interrupted me? - Yes, the answer is obvious.
Reading the transcripts, I remember how I wanted to go to Fortaleza in December this year, spend New Year's Eve there. We wanted to meet again, he begged me to tell him I'd be coming to Fortaleza on New Year's Eve, I told him I couldn't garantee anything. I am not going, I know this. But Hell, I'd love to see him again, to talk to him, see that funny face, feel his touch, drink and laugh with him.
He was one of the factors that made me undergo several changes, I can't deny that. Whisky... The brand I first drank with him is still my favorite. The jokes about blond men with long hair. It was all so different in Fortaleza, I didn't care about what happened, I wasn't prepared for anything, up to almost everything.
New Year's Eve. My white dress. Spotted with blood. The way I tied it to hide the stains of blood, my feet, bleeding on the sandals after I stepped into a piece of glass. How we danced in that tent. How I didn't get tired. The red nose. The waiter telling him he needed to put on a shirt to enter the breakfast lounge while I entered barefoot. How I kissed men in front of him. How we danced, him pressing me to his bare chest. How he stepped in when this guy didn't understand that I didn't want him. How we walked around and ended up losing everyone. The bottles of whisky all over the place. The bottles of champagne. Me not wanting to leave while he was tired. Me begging to stay till the band stopped playing. Him grabing my hand and pulling me along through the crowd and away from the band. How I startled him knowing the lyrics to a song he'd never heard before. The two of us dancing. Walking along that terribly decorated corridor in silence. How he had his white tunic slung over his shoulder. Him telling me that I should stick with him, that I wouldn't find my sister and cousin. How I walked away from him. The decision not to kiss him although I wanted to because I didn't want him to be just another one on the list of men I kissed on New Year's Eve. The shameless flirting. The clown. Him telling me that some girl had come up to him and kissed him and that he hadn't wanted her to. The two of us hanging out together. Me realizing that they hadn't only had served booze but also food. Me talking to the guy in the pink shirt at breakfast. The way his friends looked at us when we came into the breakfast lounge. How I wondered if every guy in Brazil thought that dancing included trying to push their leg between the girl's legs as often as possible. How foolish I felt when I realized I had ruined things by kissing another man with him watching. The memory that he had a girlfriend returning to my mind. How I couldn't have cared less about it. My cousin asking me at 12am if I wanted to leave backstage and look for "the boys". The laughter when we found out that we had tables right next to each other. And then there were only the two of us. How I felt closer to him only dancing pressed to his bare torso than to any other guy I had made out with before on that party. Him with the wig. The way nobody but me noticed the stains on my dress. Me holding my sandals in my hands. How little I drank. How alive I felt. Taking a whisky bottle from a random guy's hand, and downing a good quantity of it only to spit some of it in his face when he thought that me stealing his whisky meant he could kiss me. The guy who wanted me to stay with him and thought I came from Florianopolis. Daniel. These words about my looks. How I had no idea who I was kissing and only realized it on Carnaval. Romero totally drunk. The shirt Romero wore that made him look like a cloud. Walking into the guys by accident. Losing the girls. Finding company I would remain in till I was forced to leave. Singing. Yelling. Kissing. THe faces I forgot. Him standing up for me. The guy that cried. How we later saw the crying guy who had calmed down again and he stopped to ask him if he was okay. Sleeping in the single bed instead of the king-size bed with the other girls. Being sad / shocked when I saw the blood on my dress. The dress itself. How he told me he liked it. My hand in his. How he always called my by my full name and the fun ring it had to it. His shoes I can't recall. His tunic. Laughter. Punching a guy. His reaction to it, the shock on his face. How I laughed about that and he gathered me into his arms to dance. How he didn't try to find me any man with long blond hair. Me not understanding why I was kissing this random guy with him standing next to me. His way to hold me in his arms when we danced, tightly. How I was convinced I knew the members of the band playing and tried to name each of them. How the lead singer was hot. The faces I forgot. Not caring about anything. My hair. My sister phoning her boyfriend and cheating on him shortly afterwards. Him stroking my hair. Leaning on him. Keeping an eye on the band while we danced. Thinking I'd have no voice by the next day. The invitation to stay in his room as I had no way to get into mine and how I declined it. The tall guy. The orange shirt. The vodka orange juice mix tasting bad. Asking for a shot of whisky backstage while the others went with champagne. All these little details I could go on listing forever. My cousin's dress. The way it kept opening at her neck, the only part it was attached at. The white top she was wearing underneath. The bra I was not wearing. The blood. The silver flatheel sandals. All these people dressed in white. The back of his neck. Not being able to stop smiling. Romero giving himself and Clara a champagne shower. The utter happiness I experienced. Discovering what had happened to my sister. Asking the guy in the pink shirt if he had hooked up with my cousin. Not being sure if my sister was with Rodrigo or Rafael. Thiago who told me he was spelt with h. Rodrigo's beautiful green eyes. The guy with the digital camera who kept telling people to pour champagne over it. A fun story Rodrigo told us about that guy. The fact that the camera was a business gift from Japan and water-resistant. Someone remarking I had seemed to be glued to someone. The words Daniel said. Being the first to leave the breakfast lounge. My watch being on German time. Stopping to care about where the girls were. Looking for them backstage. The white hairband around my wrist. Using it to tie my dress in a way as to hide the blood stains. The white dress and the red nose. Red on white.
Memories ... just some things I remember about the concert, how each of them makes me smile even now. How I wish I could relive it.
I hate how he fucks with my mind. But I hate the fact that he hasn't fucked with my mind for quite some time even more. I love how he fucks with my mind in a way. I feel very ambigious towards him, it's difficult do describe, I don't think I can.
I wish I'd get an opportunity to talk to him again soon, I'd really love to. It's been so long since we last talked and he makes me laugh as I has to find now reading transcripts of our chats back in February that I found in my google documents. That guy makes me crazy. I know for sure that I am not in love with him, never have been, never will be, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. He is the cutest asshole I know, maybe because he isn't an asshole with me and just with others. If I could only find him online, talk to him. There is so much to talk about.
I remember how back in February he managed to interrupt me watching "Flashes Before Your Eyes" and then I was watching another episode of Lost, an older one I think on the computer a few days later and who signed on and interrupted me? - Yes, the answer is obvious.
Reading the transcripts, I remember how I wanted to go to Fortaleza in December this year, spend New Year's Eve there. We wanted to meet again, he begged me to tell him I'd be coming to Fortaleza on New Year's Eve, I told him I couldn't garantee anything. I am not going, I know this. But Hell, I'd love to see him again, to talk to him, see that funny face, feel his touch, drink and laugh with him.
He was one of the factors that made me undergo several changes, I can't deny that. Whisky... The brand I first drank with him is still my favorite. The jokes about blond men with long hair. It was all so different in Fortaleza, I didn't care about what happened, I wasn't prepared for anything, up to almost everything.
New Year's Eve. My white dress. Spotted with blood. The way I tied it to hide the stains of blood, my feet, bleeding on the sandals after I stepped into a piece of glass. How we danced in that tent. How I didn't get tired. The red nose. The waiter telling him he needed to put on a shirt to enter the breakfast lounge while I entered barefoot. How I kissed men in front of him. How we danced, him pressing me to his bare chest. How he stepped in when this guy didn't understand that I didn't want him. How we walked around and ended up losing everyone. The bottles of whisky all over the place. The bottles of champagne. Me not wanting to leave while he was tired. Me begging to stay till the band stopped playing. Him grabing my hand and pulling me along through the crowd and away from the band. How I startled him knowing the lyrics to a song he'd never heard before. The two of us dancing. Walking along that terribly decorated corridor in silence. How he had his white tunic slung over his shoulder. Him telling me that I should stick with him, that I wouldn't find my sister and cousin. How I walked away from him. The decision not to kiss him although I wanted to because I didn't want him to be just another one on the list of men I kissed on New Year's Eve. The shameless flirting. The clown. Him telling me that some girl had come up to him and kissed him and that he hadn't wanted her to. The two of us hanging out together. Me realizing that they hadn't only had served booze but also food. Me talking to the guy in the pink shirt at breakfast. The way his friends looked at us when we came into the breakfast lounge. How I wondered if every guy in Brazil thought that dancing included trying to push their leg between the girl's legs as often as possible. How foolish I felt when I realized I had ruined things by kissing another man with him watching. The memory that he had a girlfriend returning to my mind. How I couldn't have cared less about it. My cousin asking me at 12am if I wanted to leave backstage and look for "the boys". The laughter when we found out that we had tables right next to each other. And then there were only the two of us. How I felt closer to him only dancing pressed to his bare torso than to any other guy I had made out with before on that party. Him with the wig. The way nobody but me noticed the stains on my dress. Me holding my sandals in my hands. How little I drank. How alive I felt. Taking a whisky bottle from a random guy's hand, and downing a good quantity of it only to spit some of it in his face when he thought that me stealing his whisky meant he could kiss me. The guy who wanted me to stay with him and thought I came from Florianopolis. Daniel. These words about my looks. How I had no idea who I was kissing and only realized it on Carnaval. Romero totally drunk. The shirt Romero wore that made him look like a cloud. Walking into the guys by accident. Losing the girls. Finding company I would remain in till I was forced to leave. Singing. Yelling. Kissing. THe faces I forgot. Him standing up for me. The guy that cried. How we later saw the crying guy who had calmed down again and he stopped to ask him if he was okay. Sleeping in the single bed instead of the king-size bed with the other girls. Being sad / shocked when I saw the blood on my dress. The dress itself. How he told me he liked it. My hand in his. How he always called my by my full name and the fun ring it had to it. His shoes I can't recall. His tunic. Laughter. Punching a guy. His reaction to it, the shock on his face. How I laughed about that and he gathered me into his arms to dance. How he didn't try to find me any man with long blond hair. Me not understanding why I was kissing this random guy with him standing next to me. His way to hold me in his arms when we danced, tightly. How I was convinced I knew the members of the band playing and tried to name each of them. How the lead singer was hot. The faces I forgot. Not caring about anything. My hair. My sister phoning her boyfriend and cheating on him shortly afterwards. Him stroking my hair. Leaning on him. Keeping an eye on the band while we danced. Thinking I'd have no voice by the next day. The invitation to stay in his room as I had no way to get into mine and how I declined it. The tall guy. The orange shirt. The vodka orange juice mix tasting bad. Asking for a shot of whisky backstage while the others went with champagne. All these little details I could go on listing forever. My cousin's dress. The way it kept opening at her neck, the only part it was attached at. The white top she was wearing underneath. The bra I was not wearing. The blood. The silver flatheel sandals. All these people dressed in white. The back of his neck. Not being able to stop smiling. Romero giving himself and Clara a champagne shower. The utter happiness I experienced. Discovering what had happened to my sister. Asking the guy in the pink shirt if he had hooked up with my cousin. Not being sure if my sister was with Rodrigo or Rafael. Thiago who told me he was spelt with h. Rodrigo's beautiful green eyes. The guy with the digital camera who kept telling people to pour champagne over it. A fun story Rodrigo told us about that guy. The fact that the camera was a business gift from Japan and water-resistant. Someone remarking I had seemed to be glued to someone. The words Daniel said. Being the first to leave the breakfast lounge. My watch being on German time. Stopping to care about where the girls were. Looking for them backstage. The white hairband around my wrist. Using it to tie my dress in a way as to hide the blood stains. The white dress and the red nose. Red on white.
Memories ... just some things I remember about the concert, how each of them makes me smile even now. How I wish I could relive it.
