Hey whats going on, my names Jake, I'm a pretty good friend of nic and domi, so they were very cool and invited me to join this blog :D love you guys......
Just a bit about me, im tall, thin, and cool....live in the usa, frosty state of WI. I like people, music, friends (especially germans) , swimming, writing, philosophizing, and you :).
If you want EVEN MORE you can check out my single blog, see you at the lights....few posts there.....
So I really like to tell stories about things that happen to me. Yesterday was an event in our town called chalkfest. Its this really cool thing where all the local artists come together at the town square (well downtown park thing) and make chalk drawings...this is also a time of year for sales to happen at the local stores.......
anyways
Being an art enthusist, i went to check this stuff out, and it was pretty damn cool (yo). there was everything from wonderwoman to Gothic Americans to abstract wavvvvvvves etc....
So i looked at all this neato stuff for a bit, and once i was satisfied i went to a near by restaurant and decided to have a nice, imported lemonade (was a hot day). For some reason i felt like wearing plaid flannel, jeans, and boots that day.....i musta been nutz or something....looked good tho :D
After my drink i went on a walk, just around town. Then i people watched for a bit, and this happened to me.
Heres what i wrote in my journal:
I find a bench. Its wood; hard. I look across the street. Its a sporting goods shop, famous for its winter apperal, boards, skis, etc.... They have a tent sale today, jackets and stuff 50% off, come buy us, please, PLEASE!!
But what has my attention is the guy sitting in the bench infront of the store. Hes about my age, wearing shorts, basketball shoes, and a solid polo. shorter hair, brown. Good shape..
It's not his looks that really draw my attention, it's his expression.
He is so unbelieveably sad. His large brown eyes glistened with misery, his head hung a bit, his body is lose. He looks like he'd just given up on living.
I feet for him; his sadness, his lonelyness, his desolace.
Every time a couple walked by, especially if they were holding hands, especially if they were around our age, he would let out a small sigh, but large enough so that i could see his chest rise and fall.
He repositions himself so that he can balance his head in his palms, which have come together to form a Y; a cradle for his head....
Wheather i actually see it or not, it seems like tears are falling from his face...
I cant take it anymore, i have to go.
Hour Later
I sat down next to him. At first he didnt do anything, he remained motionless, with his head in his hands.
Eventually though, he looked up at me. I offered a smile, and removed my sunglasses. He smiled back, weakly.
I asked him for his name. He said Brad. I asked what was wrong brad? He said that he'd just been dumped, and started crying again. It wasnt a noisy cry, it was just a quiet, body jerking, series of small exhales. Up close he was very attractive. Straight teeth, clear complexion, strong tan, and a pretty good nose, only broken once, and his surgeon had done a great job with it.
We sat for a bit, in silence. I asked if he had been in love. He said he still was.
Silence.
He asks if i know what hes going through. I say yes.
Silence.
He asks if it will get easier. I answer with time.
Silence.
We just sit on the bench together, for an hour.
His head is still hung. I schooch over closer to him, and put a comforting hand on his back, a sign ive always interprited as kind and caring.
At first he doesnt do anything, but then he leaps up.
"What the fuck are you doing? Are you some kind of FUCKING FAG or something??"
Then he walks off.
I sit alone on the bench. I sip my lemonade. I sigh, and I hang my head.
The cycle continues.
End Entry.
Alot of the time, i like to end my entries with a poem. Most of the time, i write it. So ill end with this one:
The
Mutt.
He walks the streets
of the city. Scrounging for food. He
starves. Sometimes people give him a bite, but
what he really wants is
attention. Sometimes people pet him, but
thevastmajorityofthem99%ormorekeepwalkingtheyhurrypast.
Someone stops though.
Just one person stops.
And his life
their lives
the world
is changed.
Love.
No comments:
Post a Comment