Even though we are going to shatter thousands of lives, wearing white is gonna make the blood look so pretty.Ladd Russo
As of today i am finished with University. 6 Long year’s i have trained to become more than just a film maker.
Although many will never read this i want to thank a few people for making me the man i am today. Linda, Jess, Jodi, Julia and who could forget my parents for putting me here. If it where not for you few i would never have seen what i have seen and therefore would not be here right now.
Not even going to graduation. Fucking, not even an open bar.
And our name in time shall be forgotten, and no man shall have any remembrance.
I thought I’d post this up because I stumbled across it again after almost a year.
Back story: There was a girl whom I used to see almost every day on the bus to university (bare in mind I’m not so great at attendance). It turns out she was on the same course as me, in fact, did many of the same classes as me. Through coincidence, not through some weird stalker way. I found out she wrote poems and little rhymes, some of which were brilliant. I thought i could use this to try and get something to talk about, but I’m a terrible speaker when it comes to pretty girls. So in my failed attempt at poetry i wrote this, i left it where she could find it, and to this day i still don’t think it she knows i was me. I thought it was rather good considering…
Not sure if you’ve heard,
But some little bird,
Told me a tale,
Which I’ll now regale,
Of a man who was ignored,
By the girl he adored.
This girl she was pretty, daring and bold,
Every time they met, he felt strangely cold.
As if he was frozen, straight to the ground,
He swiftly went red, his heart would pound.
Often he kept saying, though never came true,
Soon she’ll be mine, he was certain he knew.
A year went by, and nothing had changed,
He had gone quite mad, if not deranged.
She had found another, hansom and true,
To win her heart, he had not a clue.
Then a thought sparked, deep in his mind,
It was for the best, he was just being kind.
He’d leave this place, a little bit blue,
After a year though, because he had stuff to do.
He’d travel the world, in search of another,
In order to find, the one to call lover.
Though never will there be, one quite like her,
As never again, his heart would stir.
The worst thing about it is, i still have another year with this girl, and chances are we’ll pick the same classes (again not a stalker).
Maybe I’ll write a book next time.