Tuesday, 5 April 2011

Paperbag Writer. Day Five

My third girlfriend came, the one which I had a break-up with recently. I earned a first kiss post break-up in the three weeks we'd broken up, realizing how much I was lacking that feeling and any foreign taste at all apart from the liquid mixing with my own in my veins. I opened my eyes seeing her look around my white room telling how school was rotting everybody’s mind except my own which I was thankful for. I'd still choose hospital and death, just that I'd forget it anyway after I die and supposedly the life after it is worth living, I'll forget everything, might as well enjoy it for now.

I bent my arm and it ached.

Maybe not so worth it.

Open the door.

She fixed her black framed glasses pressing herself against the window sill as I had always done the talking.

I looked at her wondering how come I was getting an overflow of attention, since I never was the ideal boyfriend turning everything daily and banal, a routine which I couldn't find. I blamed it to my sister’s drunk after break-ups drunk speeches about how the male population was dying I mean all those ‘men are bastards’ TV shows get born out of somewhere.

Maybe my sister zombified the females.

Leslie tapped her fingers against the wall, avoiding my gaze but leaving after a while as I made no intention to hold her more.

I watched the door close in a slow motion dropping my eyes faster not seeing the thud get audible.


Just wanted to say that it is the fifth.

The day of Kurt Cobain's suicide. There was a period when he ment a lot, the right nostalgia for a musician.

What I'd like to say is, thank you, you helped me build myself back when I was thirteen, even if it were brief, thank you.

Day Six

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