By personone on Wednesday, January 25th, 2012
i write sparsely but i’m always thinking abundantly. my pure thoughts lose to impure actions. where the only life i seem to live is one of regret and shame. with all my sins laid out bare, i contemplate what all humans think, and express them in the words that we’re all thinking. i’m not really good at first impressions, and i’m bound to leave you with a bitter aftertaste. because you see, she fell in love with the words he wrote and didn’t know until later that she hated the way he spoke. he wrote like a poet, a gentleman and cursed like a sailor and portrayed himself like a misogynist. yet, over and over, she would forgive him because she saw the full spectrum of the human condition in his eyes. the loneliness, the joy, the sorrow, the shame, the pity, the ecstasy. she would explore all facets of existing vicariously through his musings. the apathy dissolved into activity. he never spoke in the riddles of his rhymes, so no one ever dared guess what went through his mind, lest they assume the impossible; his mystery is what captivated them and as long as he held onto their curiosity… they would never find out about his psychosis, as well as his aversion towards reality.
