2003-06-01
my boy
from my notes:
I don't understand people. Perhaps that's why they fascinate me so much. Perhaps that's why I watch them so intently. So acutely. They say I'm a writer, but what does that mean? A writer? I don't make any money off it, so I suppose I'm just a bum. Maybe one day if I do gain "success" frm this horrible racket, I might even earn the sought after status of a hack. True, as Gabriel says "the gift of words is no small one.", but I don't exactly consider it a blessing. I consider you a blessing. That worries me. So often do people treat blessings like clothing. They are doomed to be either thrown away or passed down to another, because they will never again offer us the joy that we experienced upon first obtaining them. (forgive the run-ons, critics be damned! I've a proclivity for them) What I am trying to say...is that you are not a new pair of shoes. You're a masterpiece, to me. Something not to be enjoyed until it becomes stale, or boring. You're that painting that surprises you, and you never forget. The poem that becomes a part of you. You come across it, unexpectedly, and by unexpected means, and there it is. Shining on the page. It shockes you. It changes you. It leaves you half-drunk and wanting more. Finally, someone understands. I never want to forget what you've shown. I never want to close the book, of you...
im a happy girl because of this boy.
lunaadored at 9:45 p.m.