I'm very stubborn.
I think about how much more important this is than highschool and his memory turns into a living picture of those years; lived minute by minute, a hundred years ago.
He screwed me up, sort of.
And I guess that made me into the type that alludes a self-possessed indifference to the wild part of me that is almost cruel; But deep inside I can still feel the pressure building like a volcano waiting to erupt from the center of my soul.
You can search high and low and I still think that the two quietest places in the whole world were when he kissed my nose and the several closely related movements we made together.
I sort of resent that.
XX
Rothko
