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burned bridges.

i'm not sure what happened to the grand splendor that i once associated with my older brother. i don't think that it has dissipated, but rather it has been overshadowed by the general wear and tear of existence. intense eyes with the power to deliver a death sentence, bushy black temples, and his bullwhip of a tongue are now poorly complemented by slackened jowls and chapped lips from the stress of academic ambitions. at least my parents take pride in his acceptance into harvard or yale or whatever ivy league medical school. i, however, do not take the least bit of interest in his successes nor do i in his failures.

when i was younger, i often felt as though he were sitting on my chest- his harsh opinions and girth compromising my circulation as well as my train of thought. the transition from following his every move to fearing them is still somewhat foggy in my mind. all i know is that the man who is temporarily living in the bedroom downstairs once again is so far from the big brother i once admired and respected. i donít know that brother anymore, and for years the sound this realization resonates when it seldom surfaces has caused a stinging pain as it scratches at the sad vacancy itís left behind.

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blah blah blah. i can't hear you. what'd you say?

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stab at honest writing.

there is an underpass on 15th avenue in downtown seattle, and the sidewalk beneath it is the venue of a 2 AM a capella concert, every day. like clockwork, the same grungy looking man belts his heart out like an opera singer, without so much as a back up melody. you just know you can count on him. we all need someone like that, whether or not they're intimately involved in our lives or they barely touch it. it doesn't matter that my eyes are watery more often than not these days, or that i get my hopes up just to have them deflated 10 minutes before the moment they've been waiting for. because everything in my mind is so tumultuous and maybe that sounds too much like an excuse to be valid but it doesnít even matter right now. perhaps some foolish idea that you know, i had that man under the bridge that'd be there even when i forgot.

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flutter valve.

i can never get close enough. i want to suffocate in his arms, have my lungs collapse so i can breathe him in like air.

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that girl.

she speaks to me in a narrative structure reminscent to an all spaghetti western where ok corrals and ten gallon hats are prevalent. she has the steady hand of john wayne and the keen eye of annie oakley. but still, when it comes to men i say sheís shooting nothing but blanks.

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thinking aloud.

you tell me your life story without saying a word. you tell me, because our stories are the same. no one can deny our connection.

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