Wednesday, July 20, 2011

in the middle of the night you will think, it is probably time to go to bed soon,
then you hear the screeching of rusty bicycle brakes and cars zooming by outside.
you imagine the people inside, coming back from their summer parties, seeing families, picking up a friend- having arguments in the early morning.

foooooooooooooo, the fan drones- almost as if to tell you all the most ancient and simple truths of your everyday, waking, walking life.
and though you try to listen hard, you're cut by the sound of another speeding car and the spirited cackle of boisterous, young folk celebrating a birthday or erasing bad memories.

you think of your old friends, and the one you saw bike past you today. he looked much different, but not all that much, really.
you think about how much you've changed. if people would recognize you, if anyone ever does or will.

the sweat on your chest and your melancholy linger like friends.
are there really patterns? i want to take a million photos, draw a million drawings and send them to a million people, then they will know sadness like me.


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