leftcoast's Diaryland Diary



I mostly imagine that there is no meaning behind it, if anything it was a reflection on what you were felling or what had inspired you. But sometimes. Sometimes I try to take it apart layer by layer. For some reason I just think about how every stroke was the hate you felt towards me, the splatters wasted feelings thrown onto the canvas. And well, there is alot of red on there and even when I know I should know better I see it again as a color of anger. But then I tell myself that it had been created before anything. And simply for a good grade. I know it wasn't made specificly for me and some times I wish I didnt know that. But pretending you did makes me treasure it just as well.

12:27 a.m. - 2000-01-03


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