He wants to take her childhood memories of the suicidal father throwing live fish on top of compost piles.
He wants to take things miles and miles out of context until they don’t make sense anymore.
In the same way it becomes harder to see someone the further you are from them.
He trusts his mind.
It is a false perception to believe that things in your mind are more beautiful than reality.
It isn’t fair sometimes.
A plastic bag tangled in tree branches, stretched out and thin.
He became deranged in the hundred year old house, broke down and wrote a twenty-seven page letter, later realizing there was no one to send it to.
The paint is chipping off of those thick, thick walls.
Walls have learnt how to contain us, and how to keep people out. He wants to be a silent character and he wants us all to be silent.
It isn’t fair. He says we’ll be recreated in his silent film in black and white with our lips sewn together.
And he says this is all false.
He trusts his mind a little too much sometimes.
Recreating moments in film is two dimensional.
He sits on a brick wall everyday with his feet dangling inoperable below him.
He was once called “Smiles like a rabbit,” but he has forgotten how to smile and wears a blank face with open eyes that only see what he wants to be seen.
He wasn’t ready to give the memories back yet.
He wants to take things miles and miles out of context until they don’t make sense anymore.
In the same way it becomes harder to see someone the further you are from them.
He trusts his mind.
It is a false perception to believe that things in your mind are more beautiful than reality.
It isn’t fair sometimes.
A plastic bag tangled in tree branches, stretched out and thin.
He became deranged in the hundred year old house, broke down and wrote a twenty-seven page letter, later realizing there was no one to send it to.
The paint is chipping off of those thick, thick walls.
Walls have learnt how to contain us, and how to keep people out. He wants to be a silent character and he wants us all to be silent.
It isn’t fair. He says we’ll be recreated in his silent film in black and white with our lips sewn together.
And he says this is all false.
He trusts his mind a little too much sometimes.
Recreating moments in film is two dimensional.
He sits on a brick wall everyday with his feet dangling inoperable below him.
He was once called “Smiles like a rabbit,” but he has forgotten how to smile and wears a blank face with open eyes that only see what he wants to be seen.
He wasn’t ready to give the memories back yet.
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