Maia Nebula!

I used to write a lot of stories. Or at least, I used to think about them. Now my life goes on, rather noneventfully, and there is nothing for me to write about… or is it?

I found myself telling Himura a very long and boring story about himself abandoning his swampy estate in Louisiana with a beautiful black woman named Betsy to attend a famous bakery in Los Mártires. Betsy is supposedly running away from voodoo, but she knows Himura is actually on his way to meet a girl who buys apple pie every morning on her way back home after grocery shopping. Of course, Betsy is part of the voodoo cult she runs away from, and tries to poison the girl through a new cherry pie she convinces her to buy. Thus she can keep Himura forever, since he is not really planning to go back to Louisiana.

Days have elapsed since then, and the story still lingers in my mind. I don’t care if it’s extremely boring and stupid. I like it. It’s my story.

Man, I should be writing right now…

I wanted to call you Imouto because Oniichan is the only one who takes care of Imouto even after she gets married and has kids, and slaps her husband when he makes her sad.

You know what would be nice? Being able to live two separate lives which converge at the point where I made that weird turn, yeah, that turn. Then I’d be able to see which of those lives could’ve been better, discard one and relive the other.

But I certainly cannot do that.

Now I wonder and wonder and wonder, what if what if what if… What if I still heard the rackety trains going by at night while the shadow of raindrops drew patterns on the white wardrobe, what if the river still dominated my landscape, what if grey were still the most fashionable color in nature… What if I hadn’t chosen distance, and with it forgetfulness… For then I made another turn, a violent one, and I still cannot resign myself to the idea of such a loss.

These roads weren’t made to do any reverse motion, but sometimes they twist and twirl until you get to see them again —maybe from a bridge, maybe right there in a crossroad, made to be retaken at another point…

I slept like two hours before waking up to the sound of the phone. I must say I’m grateful to him for calling, for I was having some kind of feverish dream. I dreamed about music ringing in my ears, hammering hard into my brain, just music and more music and more music. I know I fell asleep with the iPod on and then wrenched it away, but, was it that bad to do that? Is my last dinner to blame? My stomach has been very upset tonight— milkshake and fries weren’t a very good idea, it seems.

I couldn’t go back to sleep after we hung up. It’s sad to speak with such coldness, expect nothing but ice at the other end of the line… But that’s not the reason for this sudden insomnia. I turned and turned in my bed, only to realize my stomach wasn’t willing to cooperate with the peaceful passing of the night. No, I had to get up and let it cool down before going back to bed.

That was four hours ago. I’ll try to force myself into sleep. I don’t want to have any more nightmares with my own music, I don’t want to remember that once warm voice pointing at the end of the conversation, but more than anything, I want this stupid stomachache to end.