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sometimes i think about that oen wall on the freeway and compare it to my heart

i know that's a little self-centered but i realized that everyone is. life is about being self-centered; you don't discover someone else's reason for living...life is all about you.

anyways, there was this beautiful wall by the freeway. it was one that wasn't trashed by graffiti or immaturity or hate. it was a work of art. i don't know who the artist was, or what possessed them to paint it, but i remember the different faces of people, men women, black, white, young, old...all running. and they all had similar expressions of happiness on their faces, all apparently sharing the same delight in the joy of running.

i always loved driving past that wall. it proved to me that some could create art out of what was considered trashing property. as silly as it sounds, i believe it appealed to the child within me cause it showed that yes, some good could be born of the bad

then of course, as all stories go, a few months later the wall was completely vandalized. scribbled over the joyous faces were words of hate, prejudice, and despair. i actually got teary-eyed the first time i passed that wall after it was raped, but like all people who are exposed to tragic things constantly, i got used to it.

and that is the story of how my heart broke.