"//// 13 is a lucky number, its my best friends birthday, it comes in april. He was born on the 13th and for this reason, i remember
>> the date, and it
>> reminds me of him. We age together, we see time go from there to here to there, we share in each
>> others
>> family, accomplishments, triumphs, tragedies, wants,
>> wishes, secrets, needs
and desires. We know things that friends know, but we know why.
He cooks for me, he knows how to make
>> a british form of
>> bread pastry know as a "popover" which has grease
>> from meat included
>> as it bakes. He has very bad handwriting, because
>> no one knew he was
>> left handed in early schooling. It is the
> handwriting of a ten year
old. I love to look at it, because i know it is
>> his, instantly, and no
>> one else's. No one could ever forge his signature.
>>
Except maybe a
>> ten year old. It comforts me to see his words on paper.
I think of the 13th as his day, and
>> always have, because he is not prone to frivolous celebration. I am, so I will do it for him; he is
>> left brained.
>> Logical
>> Sequential
>> Rational
>> Analytical
>> Objective while i am right brained. he is a part
>> of me that is not
>> there, he fills "there" out where i don't exist.
>>
he is
>> difficult, he is trying,
>> he is deep and intense, and brooding if left alone
>> too long, like a
> Irishman in the rain. In Ireland. On a rainy,
> dark, day. He can brood.
He is glorious, if left alone.
>>
Selfless and stalwart, he does not break,
>> ever, because we need
>> him not to.
>>
>> Piercing
>> eyes and could
>> stop an explosion with his hands by holding it in
>> from the sides, not letting it out. It would extinguish and not ignite.
>>
>> I want to buy him time, so I but him this day. I hope you
>> will accept this
>> story of him, what little it is, a sketch that is
>> only one day deep.
>>
>> There are 364 more version of him, but those are
>> the ones that i keep
>> for
myself. I keep them for me so I have something no one else does. I know he can sing."
>> the date, and it
>> reminds me of him. We age together, we see time go from there to here to there, we share in each
>> others
>> family, accomplishments, triumphs, tragedies, wants,
>> wishes, secrets, needs
and desires. We know things that friends know, but we know why.
He cooks for me, he knows how to make
>> a british form of
>> bread pastry know as a "popover" which has grease
>> from meat included
>> as it bakes. He has very bad handwriting, because
>> no one knew he was
>> left handed in early schooling. It is the
> handwriting of a ten year
old. I love to look at it, because i know it is
>> his, instantly, and no
>> one else's. No one could ever forge his signature.
>>
Except maybe a
>> ten year old. It comforts me to see his words on paper.
I think of the 13th as his day, and
>> always have, because he is not prone to frivolous celebration. I am, so I will do it for him; he is
>> left brained.
>> Logical
>> Sequential
>> Rational
>> Analytical
>> Objective while i am right brained. he is a part
>> of me that is not
>> there, he fills "there" out where i don't exist.
>>
he is
>> difficult, he is trying,
>> he is deep and intense, and brooding if left alone
>> too long, like a
> Irishman in the rain. In Ireland. On a rainy,
> dark, day. He can brood.
He is glorious, if left alone.
>>
Selfless and stalwart, he does not break,
>> ever, because we need
>> him not to.
>>
>> Piercing
>> eyes and could
>> stop an explosion with his hands by holding it in
>> from the sides, not letting it out. It would extinguish and not ignite.
>>
>> I want to buy him time, so I but him this day. I hope you
>> will accept this
>> story of him, what little it is, a sketch that is
>> only one day deep.
>>
>> There are 364 more version of him, but those are
>> the ones that i keep
>> for
myself. I keep them for me so I have something no one else does. I know he can sing."
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