20 March, 2005 :: 11:49 p.m.
to the cuban...
to the cuban...
this is not a poem. NOT. a poem. but i did compose it on a wendy's napkin, whatever that means. it's too bad that the first month of the anniversary of the death of our idol had to be on the day of your birth, right?
he is the only person I know who can successfully integrate phrases like: "I want their existence to not," in everyday conversation. He is the supporter as well as supplier of my worst habits, while still understanding and appreciating my best. His independant strenth frightens me. His ongoing rage eases me. But always, he remains.
B.
