I flipped through a quote book my grandparents gave me and saw a quotation about complaining. About sorrow, really, but mostly about how if someone complains about something then they must think that their something is, on some level, a little OK. We only talk in a big mess about what is not actually bothering us.
I imagined telling you this quote or maybe just paraphrasing and you're upset because you think I am accusing you of being a bad friend. Really I want you to ask me what I'm hiding even though there's no way I could tell you about why I am and always will be sad.
Why am I not accusing you of hiding a sorrow? You wouldn't tell me about it obviously. Do you know how huge people are? Vats of urine. You took Calculus, I remember helping you after school and bonding like molecules do. There's the opinion that people's nuclei can fuse but you know what? Our electrons got into a working orbit or something. I think if anyone knew anyone else really then there would be some wort of explosion. Maybe that's what the soulmate love thing is. You become some synthetic monster molecule or something.
Anyway, you took Calculus, right? Do you understand how huge people are? It's almost disgusting. We draw out of current thoughts and lives like a function of time. And we are the area thus far under the curve. I am an integral from today to whence I came. I cannot concieve of myself because I am not smart enough. None of us know ourselves, how could we possibly know each other? And so much of each other is disgusting. How complicated is a human. Like a world. Sure, there's a word for it, but it just works around it like those electrons. The word can't connect to a thought. You are empty, a few streaks of my integral.
It must not mean much, this idea, because I told you about it. I thought about keeping it in my head but I think writing it down makes thinks a little OK on some level, even if it used to be too big. Maybe that's the point of poetry.
As sincere as I can be,
-Citron
I imagined telling you this quote or maybe just paraphrasing and you're upset because you think I am accusing you of being a bad friend. Really I want you to ask me what I'm hiding even though there's no way I could tell you about why I am and always will be sad.
Why am I not accusing you of hiding a sorrow? You wouldn't tell me about it obviously. Do you know how huge people are? Vats of urine. You took Calculus, I remember helping you after school and bonding like molecules do. There's the opinion that people's nuclei can fuse but you know what? Our electrons got into a working orbit or something. I think if anyone knew anyone else really then there would be some wort of explosion. Maybe that's what the soulmate love thing is. You become some synthetic monster molecule or something.
Anyway, you took Calculus, right? Do you understand how huge people are? It's almost disgusting. We draw out of current thoughts and lives like a function of time. And we are the area thus far under the curve. I am an integral from today to whence I came. I cannot concieve of myself because I am not smart enough. None of us know ourselves, how could we possibly know each other? And so much of each other is disgusting. How complicated is a human. Like a world. Sure, there's a word for it, but it just works around it like those electrons. The word can't connect to a thought. You are empty, a few streaks of my integral.
It must not mean much, this idea, because I told you about it. I thought about keeping it in my head but I think writing it down makes thinks a little OK on some level, even if it used to be too big. Maybe that's the point of poetry.
As sincere as I can be,
-Citron
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