(no subject)
At the end of the day I just feel dumb. Resentful, and dumb. Let down. Frustrated. Dumb. Or maybe enlightened. I grinned myself to sleep yesterday. Because he walked out in a blue hoody and jeans, and on a rainy spring day with the camera on his shoulder somehow his whole persona had changed. He looked like a photographer, a side of him I'd never seen.
It didn't turn out to be awkward...we just kind of laughed.... and I looked into his camera and smiled and I could hear him laughing periodically. I don't even know how he got my jokes. I think I was babbling, I don't know, but that happy smile that only appears once in a while with me and those jokes that only come out sometimes with me were coming out.
I saw the curtains move in the window as I held the sign and did a little knee tilt, telling him how much I hated to be photographed. I could see that someone was curious as to what was going on outside.
When I brought my drawing in for him to photograph, his mom momotaged me in the hallway. I kind of wonder if she had been lurking, because I had never met the woman before and I was frankly unaware that she even walked down that hallway ever aside from to get to her car. Sunday afternoon, all the normal sounds, someone vacuuming, the dog scratching at the door. She asked about my artwork, and I could tell that something had piqued her interest about me, but I don't know what. Maybe it was just the fact that her son was going outside, with his camera, and using what they had paid to get him a degree for. Maybe it was that he was laughing. I don't know, but something tells me he doesn't laugh much... he doesn't laugh normally even with me, sometimes, it feels so good when he does laugh.... because when he gets sad he doesn't, he doesn't even know how... and I remember in September I heard him laugh and it might've been a year since I last heard that sound... because what I hear more is
"it really hurts"....
But I can't take that away, all that you've done to yourself, and the way you envy the fact that I found something to live for. You've only put that off so many times, that I have something to wake up to do in the morning but it didn't take much and I can drag you down with me to a certain degree if you only try. But when you're immersed in your photographs you're somewhere else completely and this side of you, the side of you with a camera hanging from your shoulder, that side of you can be so refreshing to know it still exists... and I wonder if that's why your mother was in the hallway waiting to see... because I can't imagine how her heart breaks for you, how she probably lays awake at night, she and your father. You have a family, full of love, I know it because your father takes her out on the motorcycle on warm Spring days.
You have such a beautiful yard. With landscaping and trees that don't make much sense, and the litter in it somehow seems natural against your wood paneled house. I know every window in your home has some hand and dedication, from the dinosaurs painted on your bedroom wall to the tiling on the bathroom floor... you've got warm wood floors and bought artwork hanging on every wall, and every detail is something I admire. Somehow, the fact that there's a strong amount of not only wealth, but taste and love and devotion (the spiral staircase that leads into your basement) seems comforting to me. I can sleep on your couch and trust that tomorrow I'll wake up and still be there with no more problems.
I trust you, you know. That's strange to me, considering I don't trust a word that comes out of Kyle's mouth and I honestly thought because of him that you couldn't trust anyone, but I trust you to tell me the truth if I ask. Maybe I'm just a highschool school girl, but we talked about two artists and the next day you posted on facebook you wanted a tattoo by one of those artists. I smiled when I saw it, wondering if, to a certain degree, that tattoo had anything to do with me, if you wanted me to see that. I post things on my facebook FOR you, but I feel like a fool tagging you in everything, because I probably would be tagging you in everything... so I post the things I know you'd like and I hope that you'll see it.... That's the thing, you always do and you leave a little like or comment to acknowledge that our interests really are just the same.
Maybe I'm completely looking into your mother in the hallway... but I've been over so many times at this point and never met the lady, and she made an effort to talk to me and I wonder, really, if there was a reason. If something she saw from the window made her want to meet me... god I just want to make you happy and remind you there's a reason for living.
I can't take the pain away and you know that, but I would give anything just to know you'll be okay.... I think you're doing better, but if something were to happen I would lay on your grave and I would talk to you when I had no one to talk to, because I then I couldn't pretend anymore that I didn't do that in the first place.
What I don't get is how so many girls chase you, every girl at some point has desired you, and that's why my interests were made a mockery, and I guess maybe there's some sexual thing about you, or Kyle thinks it's an air of mystery, which I really don't get, I find you're easy to crack, because I get you. It took him a while to realise my interest in you wasn't like every other girls, and I wonder if you get that. My interest for you has to do everything with who you are. With the way you think everything is beautiful, with how immersed you get with your camera... because what I remember is standing alone in the balcony in canada, and that cold cold cold winter morning
some stray snowflakes falling, and how the mountain seemed so empty in comparison to the noisy and boisterous days before. Not a person walking by. I inhaled the heat from a cigarette, and the only person out there in that moment was me, and there was you, doing what I was doing, and I could tell by the way you stood and how you searched the view that what you saw in that moment was similar to mine... the beauty of a quiet, winter morning, and how you could just truly appreciate silence...
You waved and went inside.
You wouldn't remember, you didn't know it was me... I was a stranger on a balcony, but I remembered your name from the night before and although there was someone else with hair similar to yours, and it was far away, that I had met the night before that stayed in your room
knowing you now
I know it HAD to have been you. Because that's something you would do. In those moments where you have to hide, where you want to disappear, you do.... and no one really knows that's where you go, but I do, I get it..... I know the place where you go.... and maybe that's what separates me from all those other girls who desire you because they WANT to know where you go... I desire you because I know where you go, and I go there too....
so I'll meet you there.
It didn't turn out to be awkward...we just kind of laughed.... and I looked into his camera and smiled and I could hear him laughing periodically. I don't even know how he got my jokes. I think I was babbling, I don't know, but that happy smile that only appears once in a while with me and those jokes that only come out sometimes with me were coming out.
I saw the curtains move in the window as I held the sign and did a little knee tilt, telling him how much I hated to be photographed. I could see that someone was curious as to what was going on outside.
When I brought my drawing in for him to photograph, his mom momotaged me in the hallway. I kind of wonder if she had been lurking, because I had never met the woman before and I was frankly unaware that she even walked down that hallway ever aside from to get to her car. Sunday afternoon, all the normal sounds, someone vacuuming, the dog scratching at the door. She asked about my artwork, and I could tell that something had piqued her interest about me, but I don't know what. Maybe it was just the fact that her son was going outside, with his camera, and using what they had paid to get him a degree for. Maybe it was that he was laughing. I don't know, but something tells me he doesn't laugh much... he doesn't laugh normally even with me, sometimes, it feels so good when he does laugh.... because when he gets sad he doesn't, he doesn't even know how... and I remember in September I heard him laugh and it might've been a year since I last heard that sound... because what I hear more is
"it really hurts"....
But I can't take that away, all that you've done to yourself, and the way you envy the fact that I found something to live for. You've only put that off so many times, that I have something to wake up to do in the morning but it didn't take much and I can drag you down with me to a certain degree if you only try. But when you're immersed in your photographs you're somewhere else completely and this side of you, the side of you with a camera hanging from your shoulder, that side of you can be so refreshing to know it still exists... and I wonder if that's why your mother was in the hallway waiting to see... because I can't imagine how her heart breaks for you, how she probably lays awake at night, she and your father. You have a family, full of love, I know it because your father takes her out on the motorcycle on warm Spring days.
You have such a beautiful yard. With landscaping and trees that don't make much sense, and the litter in it somehow seems natural against your wood paneled house. I know every window in your home has some hand and dedication, from the dinosaurs painted on your bedroom wall to the tiling on the bathroom floor... you've got warm wood floors and bought artwork hanging on every wall, and every detail is something I admire. Somehow, the fact that there's a strong amount of not only wealth, but taste and love and devotion (the spiral staircase that leads into your basement) seems comforting to me. I can sleep on your couch and trust that tomorrow I'll wake up and still be there with no more problems.
I trust you, you know. That's strange to me, considering I don't trust a word that comes out of Kyle's mouth and I honestly thought because of him that you couldn't trust anyone, but I trust you to tell me the truth if I ask. Maybe I'm just a highschool school girl, but we talked about two artists and the next day you posted on facebook you wanted a tattoo by one of those artists. I smiled when I saw it, wondering if, to a certain degree, that tattoo had anything to do with me, if you wanted me to see that. I post things on my facebook FOR you, but I feel like a fool tagging you in everything, because I probably would be tagging you in everything... so I post the things I know you'd like and I hope that you'll see it.... That's the thing, you always do and you leave a little like or comment to acknowledge that our interests really are just the same.
Maybe I'm completely looking into your mother in the hallway... but I've been over so many times at this point and never met the lady, and she made an effort to talk to me and I wonder, really, if there was a reason. If something she saw from the window made her want to meet me... god I just want to make you happy and remind you there's a reason for living.
I can't take the pain away and you know that, but I would give anything just to know you'll be okay.... I think you're doing better, but if something were to happen I would lay on your grave and I would talk to you when I had no one to talk to, because I then I couldn't pretend anymore that I didn't do that in the first place.
What I don't get is how so many girls chase you, every girl at some point has desired you, and that's why my interests were made a mockery, and I guess maybe there's some sexual thing about you, or Kyle thinks it's an air of mystery, which I really don't get, I find you're easy to crack, because I get you. It took him a while to realise my interest in you wasn't like every other girls, and I wonder if you get that. My interest for you has to do everything with who you are. With the way you think everything is beautiful, with how immersed you get with your camera... because what I remember is standing alone in the balcony in canada, and that cold cold cold winter morning
some stray snowflakes falling, and how the mountain seemed so empty in comparison to the noisy and boisterous days before. Not a person walking by. I inhaled the heat from a cigarette, and the only person out there in that moment was me, and there was you, doing what I was doing, and I could tell by the way you stood and how you searched the view that what you saw in that moment was similar to mine... the beauty of a quiet, winter morning, and how you could just truly appreciate silence...
You waved and went inside.
You wouldn't remember, you didn't know it was me... I was a stranger on a balcony, but I remembered your name from the night before and although there was someone else with hair similar to yours, and it was far away, that I had met the night before that stayed in your room
knowing you now
I know it HAD to have been you. Because that's something you would do. In those moments where you have to hide, where you want to disappear, you do.... and no one really knows that's where you go, but I do, I get it..... I know the place where you go.... and maybe that's what separates me from all those other girls who desire you because they WANT to know where you go... I desire you because I know where you go, and I go there too....
so I'll meet you there.