A short note to a girl, scrawled by a boy who is not as troubled as he likes to make out.
I turned your life into a novel suitable for a depressed young male like myself. I thought that having an interesting life story was more important that you having the life you wanted. Drama is so passé, man.
In regiments of orange glowing street light, I could only really address your distorted silhouette on the wet, black asphalt. Your hands are blue from the cold, like a cartoon and you've only got 6 nails left. I wonder, will I ever be attracted to a girl without a mental illness? Staring at your eyes, I wondered briefly if you reflected me in that sense, then looking black at the floor I decided that the silhouette is a much better metaphor for this. "Shadow am I, a question of a person but no said reply." I'll try to remember to write that down when we get home.
It's not that you take up all my time... but if the writing is alive, then what are you?
In my adaptation of your life I decided that I was going to get the main characters to break up at the end, but instead I decided that I wasn't a verygood fantastic writer. The glamour and romance of being broken hearted was appealing in an very noir sense, all I really wanted was an excuse to self destruct and then methodically rebuild all my demons.
There's nothing rock and roll about falling apart. Everything that I had was not revealed to me in a sudden wave of realisation. It was, in fact, found at the bottom of a beer glass. What would you do next, I asked myself, if you let it all go again? Give yourself another new name? Move country? Change your sex? Look at your protagonist, you didn't need to write someone so perfect, she was already there.
So before we went home that night, we had to wait. "Why won't you look at me?" Followed by "I'm nervous." Followed by "Your hands are freezing." Followed by "What are we waiting for?" The timing wasn't perfect, but considering the odds I couldn't really have asked for more. Under the warm suburb glow of the street light, it started to snow, and so I kissed you.
And that's why I said it. Since you ask so nicely. What do you mean 'The End'?
I turned your life into a novel suitable for a depressed young male like myself. I thought that having an interesting life story was more important that you having the life you wanted. Drama is so passé, man.
In regiments of orange glowing street light, I could only really address your distorted silhouette on the wet, black asphalt. Your hands are blue from the cold, like a cartoon and you've only got 6 nails left. I wonder, will I ever be attracted to a girl without a mental illness? Staring at your eyes, I wondered briefly if you reflected me in that sense, then looking black at the floor I decided that the silhouette is a much better metaphor for this. "Shadow am I, a question of a person but no said reply." I'll try to remember to write that down when we get home.
It's not that you take up all my time... but if the writing is alive, then what are you?
In my adaptation of your life I decided that I was going to get the main characters to break up at the end, but instead I decided that I wasn't a very
There's nothing rock and roll about falling apart. Everything that I had was not revealed to me in a sudden wave of realisation. It was, in fact, found at the bottom of a beer glass. What would you do next, I asked myself, if you let it all go again? Give yourself another new name? Move country? Change your sex? Look at your protagonist, you didn't need to write someone so perfect, she was already there.
So before we went home that night, we had to wait. "Why won't you look at me?" Followed by "I'm nervous." Followed by "Your hands are freezing." Followed by "What are we waiting for?" The timing wasn't perfect, but considering the odds I couldn't really have asked for more. Under the warm suburb glow of the street light, it started to snow, and so I kissed you.
And that's why I said it. Since you ask so nicely. What do you mean 'The End'?
posted by Hamish at
9:42 PM
1 Comments:
You're beautiful, and I love you.
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