12 dec: yesterday,
he sat behind me, crying. his eyes and were puffy and red and I asked him if he was all right but he said
nothing. it's predictable, it's overlookable.
I thought God, God, god,
but he's non, non,
non-denominational.
how pretentious.
i "use the lord's name in vain" because i've accepted my vanity, learned to cope by belittling myself in the dark.

there was a certain serenity in his chaotic demeanor, if that's possible.
he wrote with such affinity, such pressure. abundant was the adrenaline and passion which coursed through the veins in his forearms as he scribbled.
something's...different.
he's wearing glasses. are they his father's? I considered the prospect because I thought he might have asked to borrow them to hide his tears.
"I didn't know you wore glasses,"
(never in three years).
"I got them yesterday."