THINGS THAT ARE STOLEN FROM US
I used to write a stories about a little boy named Chopin, but it was so hard to do. Even though this Chopin couldn’t play music and loved baseball and skipped school and wore little blue jeans, every time I would write a story about him, anyone who read it would read my Chopin would start to hum Chopin things and stop reading about my Chopin.
People told me: the only thing you can do if you want to write a story about a little boy named Chopin is to wait until no one who remembers Chopin is still alive. Or go to a faraway place filled with ice and forests. Or simply write a story about a little boy named Chopin, who loves the piano and plays it very well, coughs once, and then dies.
People told me: the only thing you can do if you want to write a story about a little boy named Chopin is to wait until no one who remembers Chopin is still alive. Or go to a faraway place filled with ice and forests. Or simply write a story about a little boy named Chopin, who loves the piano and plays it very well, coughs once, and then dies.
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