If I go to Brazil by Don Bernal
I think if I go to Brazil... a lot of people would be sad. Not really a lot, but relative, to, say, me, it would be a whole lot. I think people would be miss me, or maybe, parts of me... Like Lynn, she would probably miss my voice. And my fingers. Because phones and emails are notorious for their inability to do themselves without a little help... The guys at work, maybe my humor. The ability to be stupid for the sake of un-boredom. My writing? Who knows? I'm not sure if they like that, or because I'm a writer... Tina? My advice. I think she likes bouncing things off me, because I'm receptive to listening. And I make funny noises when things are bounced of me... Mike? I'm not sure. Who knows if he'd miss a thing at all? He might be more disappointed that he didn't get a chance to miss anything, like everyone else. Sorry, Mike.
But who'd miss me? That's the all-important question. Am I not the sum of my parts? They only like pieces of me. I rather think that I can be more than a removable doll. Although being a doll doesn't turn me off a bit. But anyways. How can I really expect anyone to miss "me", if I don't know what the "me" actually is? I can see how the pieces of me don't mesh together; they seem actually to be repelled by one another. One comes out, the others hide. Or is that just me? I don't know. Maybe that's why they don't know. Why no one can miss "me". I'm too complicated. And I hide pieces from others. I don't share. I got kicked out of kindergarden because of that.
I think if I go to Brazil, a lot of people would be sad. And confused.
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