I know I have been MIA in the last couple of days/weeks/months but I will try to be a little more constant with this journal from now on.  It seems a bit pointless now and I suppose that's my fault but that whole self loathing thing and abuse just seems to keep going and going.  Either way, if you want to abuse Death for any of  your story lines, feel free to drop me a line, she's not doing much of anything except sitting around and watching life go on as she remains stationary. 

To amuse you, I present this Youtube VID that I didn't make of Zhang Ziyi looking stunning as usual with the score from 2046 in the background.  It's an amazing movie you should really go and watch it.

    The first time I saw him I thought he was beautiful.  I had seen many men, many women and everything in between - but there was something special about him.  Perhaps it was the eyes or the lips, or it was something inside that drew me to him, whatever it was I could not name it but I longed to possess it and put a name to it.  Even now that I look back on those days I can not name what he possessed that made fall so deeply for him.  I have lived many, many years and I have seen many, many more men that have come after him but nothing seemed to compare to that first feeling of endearment and love.  Perhaps it is true what they say, that your first love is your greatest - it seems silly for me to wax philosophical about such things considering I have no heart or soul.

But this is a story about the past and a time when I still possessed wide eyed optimism and innocence when it came to certain things and sex and love were two of those things.  He taught me many things about both of those.  He taught me how to feel good and made me into a woman, and made me feel like I was the only woman in the world all though I was certainly not.  After so many years of being invisible and cold he saw me and made me feel warm, it was amazing to close my eyes and to pretend to feel my heart beating in my chest. 

After we no longer saw each other, or spoke to each other I sometimes would go to his house in Greece and lay on his bed.  To press my face into his pillows and smell him on his sheets and covers and pretend that my heart was beating once more.

The pages are scribbled and inked up from this point forward covered mostly in names, dates, and places.

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