Mood: relaxed Once a stubborn and often cruel man, he has since stepped down from this pedestal he'd placed himself upon, where he'd descend the shadowed staircase and shake hands with the legions of dissatisfied lovers, kin and aquaintences he'd left in his wake. And he'd come down to stare them in the eyes--purposefully. "I'd rather them tell me my errors instead of me pretending they aren't real," he said. It made me think of the majority who would never be able to conceive saying something like he said in that moment. I appreciated it, and I felt every word he spoke send a reverberence of familiarity through my bones. I made connection with his eyes and saw oceans of evidence that attested to his genuineness. I knew exactly where he was because I spent years there, myself. By this point, refraining from dropping some tears was becoming an insurmountable task. Afterall, we were in the middle of a diner and I certainly did not want to be recalled by those in close-enough proximity as that of the "chick crying in the diner". But when I say that he breaks me, I mean it to an extreme degree. I was crying for the duration of the car ride home, singing maniacally to Overlee on the Rental's second album Seven More Minutes. Great album, by the way.
What's the frequency, kenneth?
2:24 p.m.//08.28.06
He is a product of his own mistakes; a ragged man that is no stranger to countless evenings of silence. Everyday is an empty day, and whatever he touches and whatever he sees reminds him of his past inadvertences which lead him to this tragic spot.
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