00.22 Estrellita Mia

Pd; I joined this reading and writing class ok, and right now er're seeing Clarice Lispector, Mariana Enriquez, and a bit of Sylvia Plath.
It's been really cool and I liked it a lot. But I was reading demasiado no es suficiente and remembered something that made me cry.
When I was still in high school I joined this group that was conformed by -sexually- disident people, and one of our ideas was to create a disident library for our school. 
At the time, my mom had participated on a fanzine and they used one of her paintings. She was so happy and proud! 
This fanzine is disident. So I asked my mom to let me borrow her precious volumes, and the one that featured her painting, to make a copy and leave it on the library. She did.
There were two girls in charge of this project, so I gave the volumes to them and asked to take good care of them because they were important. They swore to me they would.

Time passed and I asked them to give them back. They always cancelled me last moment. It was always 'the other one who had them'. They never gave me a real answer nor a reason. I never stopped asking, until I couldn't. 
They would kind of ignore me. And then I got out of school. I tried one last time but it didn't work. Then there was the lockdown, and now I don't even have a way to contact them. It's been at least 6 years now.

I was reading Mariana's book then. And she mentioned how she lost every trace of a very important interview she had with the singer from her favorite band,a nd she talks about this awful feeling of losing something precious to you. When I read that, my heart ached.
I thought about my mom. And her copy of that fanzine number that featured her painting. And how I lost it. I never told her, and she never asked. She probably thought it was her who lost it. She's been through quite a bit, and doesn't have a really good memory, so all of that might be mixed up in her head, and sort of let that go. But I feel guilty, so I'll try to get them back somehow. I'm sorry.