500
Street
Fights.
If you had been calling someone your boyfriend and he had been calling you his girlfriend for several months, and then you discovered something like this, what would you do? You would talk about it, right? What if when you talked about it you got a story that you couldn't necessarily argue with? What if rather than being heard in conversation, you were constantly left with the feeling that the other person was simply waiting for their turn, once again, to speak? What if hearing another drinking or ex-girlfriend story made you want to start punching teeth out.
What if you were a sea of violence just below a calm exterior, a calm exterior that is two pushes away from the collapse. The ears, man, watch the ears. What if you were in a relationship that was absolutely bereft of any respect, and you knew that nobody in your family liked him. And every minute of every day you were coming around, too. It's just my name on the lease, motherfucker.
This 14 year old kid at the show kept talking to me, and at the end of the night he took my picture and said he wanted to have a keepsake of the "pretty photographer." You remember the one comment you made about how I looked? You told me that I'd have to keep my arms down since I was "growing my armpit hair out." You thought you were pretty funny. I wonder if it occurs to you, that I am capable of breaking. That you are the one who will cause it. That it will be ugly and I will be ashamed of my actions but secretly proud, as well.
And last night I kept thinking that if Libby had discovered something like the above links, she would have absolutely murdered your trifling ass. What I'm hoping for is some strength like that.
And Kat and I were talking for so long about Evergreen, and Olympia, and how college should be. It was so absolutely incredible to be conversing with someone, and to have them actually listen to me. Then they started talking about what dogs would eat in the wild, and you were so sure that you were right that the notion you might be wrong never once entered the equation. She presented her argument logically, and you presented yours like forty orcs with a battering ram trying to get into Helm's Deep. Finally she just looked at me and muttered, "jesus, he doesn't listen, this is pointless." That was the first time in several weeks that I haven't felt crazy.
Don't let me talk myself out of this. This is the right decision. Hands on the wheel. Vperyod.
Street
Fights.
If you had been calling someone your boyfriend and he had been calling you his girlfriend for several months, and then you discovered something like this, what would you do? You would talk about it, right? What if when you talked about it you got a story that you couldn't necessarily argue with? What if rather than being heard in conversation, you were constantly left with the feeling that the other person was simply waiting for their turn, once again, to speak? What if hearing another drinking or ex-girlfriend story made you want to start punching teeth out.
What if you were a sea of violence just below a calm exterior, a calm exterior that is two pushes away from the collapse. The ears, man, watch the ears. What if you were in a relationship that was absolutely bereft of any respect, and you knew that nobody in your family liked him. And every minute of every day you were coming around, too. It's just my name on the lease, motherfucker.
This 14 year old kid at the show kept talking to me, and at the end of the night he took my picture and said he wanted to have a keepsake of the "pretty photographer." You remember the one comment you made about how I looked? You told me that I'd have to keep my arms down since I was "growing my armpit hair out." You thought you were pretty funny. I wonder if it occurs to you, that I am capable of breaking. That you are the one who will cause it. That it will be ugly and I will be ashamed of my actions but secretly proud, as well.
And last night I kept thinking that if Libby had discovered something like the above links, she would have absolutely murdered your trifling ass. What I'm hoping for is some strength like that.
And Kat and I were talking for so long about Evergreen, and Olympia, and how college should be. It was so absolutely incredible to be conversing with someone, and to have them actually listen to me. Then they started talking about what dogs would eat in the wild, and you were so sure that you were right that the notion you might be wrong never once entered the equation. She presented her argument logically, and you presented yours like forty orcs with a battering ram trying to get into Helm's Deep. Finally she just looked at me and muttered, "jesus, he doesn't listen, this is pointless." That was the first time in several weeks that I haven't felt crazy.
Don't let me talk myself out of this. This is the right decision. Hands on the wheel. Vperyod.
1 Comments:
At 8:53 AM,
porfiry said…
Ditto. Me and Libby can make it look like an accident, honest. :)
We're 45th generation Roman, there exists no man that can fuck with us, no action that can penetrate deep enough to mar the nobility within. Saw him last night and my crew and I almost jumped him, almost did some damage. If you don't ditch him quick, I seriously might expedite the process by putting an end to him.
>:)
No one is allowed to treat you without the respect you deserve. If they do, they have to deal with me. And my ears go real red.
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