robot talk. bleepity bloop.
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2004-02-10 04:30:01 (UTC)

starry fight

We are often left torn by our first love. If a heart is a
country, there a soft spot emerges where Rhode Island is
located, or Vermont, depending on the individual…and their
country of origin. My first love was hidden.It became a
tremendous tidal wave that would eventually drag me down in
the undertow. There is Vincent Van Gogh you know. I went to
see Van Gogh instead of going on a road. I wore a brown
sweater and I listened on the headphones. When he came back,
I saw pictures. Him. With her. So close. I felt that
photograph in the pit of my stomach. That’s a shame. But is
it? Vincent Van Gogh was broke. I was broken. And I stood
on the roof of a parking deck in Philadelphia and felt
pretty much the same way. Van Gogh liked things to move. And
‘why are you breathing so hard?’ is no way to respond to a
girl so full of passion. He would’ve known that by the rise
and fall. The movement. I suppose he’ll realize when I’m
dead. But then...If it weren’t for that day with the
freezing rain and a Christmas gift from my mother to see my
favorite painter…then maybe I too would’ve cut off my ear by
now. That’s what it would’ve taken. And then theres the one
who never turned my paintings upside down, never "liked them
better that way." Never walked ahead. I guess you need to
realize these things and stop comparing. so ill stop
comparing and start reading. singing. stop listening to
games played at my expense. and that is that. not the one
in the photograph. hes just a boy and boys are selfish and
dont play well, dont have a firm grasp of how it really is
to love someone. and thats just fine with me. i just wish i
hadnt spent so much time writing letters. i killed a lot of
trees that way. so the story goes.

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