Blogger = Copy Paste Repository

I found this story on /b/, believe it or not, and knew I had to save it. Most /b/ threads last maybe 20 mins tops, so I won't bother linking it, but that also gives you an idea of the urgency I felt when trying to save it. First off, I was surfing the site on my PSP, which has no way to copy text (a huge oversight, I think), so I leapt to my computer, and found that it had already left the front page. It was a dead thread. Not to be dismayed, I brought up the thread number, and actually typed the URL out. It worked, and now I can give you the following:

One day I was walking with my girlfriend. She was babbling along a mile a minute, as usual, and I was listening and commenting only occasionaly, as usual. The conversation came around to her parents. I flatly refused to speak of mine. "Come on," she begged. "There must at least be a baby picture." So, I drew my wallet, and drew the only photograph I had, of me and Rachel. Last I'd seen Rachel was to sing her to sleep, knowing the next morning she'd be adopted and I wouldn't. My girlfriend, the color drains from her face. She took the picture from my hand, the wind whipping her blue-dyed hair across her face, lips moving silently. Abruptly, she takes off like a bat out of hell, calling over her shoulder to wait right there. Confused, I do, and she comes back with an equally confused girl-olive skin and dark blue eyes, like me. Straight chestnut hair. Even the same dress style-mostly black, fishnets on her arms, bondage pants. Me, just a pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt. It should have hit me then, I guess. But I was so resigned to never seeing Rachel again... Astrid turns, jams the picture into the girl's hand. She looks at it, confused, tears springing into her eyes. "That's me and my brother." she says softly, a wobble in her voice. "Where'd you get this?". Apparently, I swore very loudly-I was almost ticketed for public profanity, until the situation was explained. But I did't even hear the swear fall from my lips. Probably "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"-my standard cry when deeply shocked. It was as if I was deaf. All I was aware of was the beautiful girl holding the photograph and crying. She looked up, incredulous, and spoke my name, once, as a question. Not my current name-the one I had before. The one I was born with and never told anyone. I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was going to stay, and without intending to, stole the words of a better writer than I:

It's me, I said. I'm the one who sang to you.