Wednesday, November 12, 2003
goodbyes are never really final
it happened months ago but i still feel sick to my stomach. at least it's less dramatic and no one mourns the loss of a one album rock and roll band. everything is easier the second time around.
_______________________________________________
i wrote you a letter when i was 16. i remember the ink kept smudging with a combination of my clumsy fingers and the taers running down my cheeks. i kept writing "i live through your music" and "its gotten me through this and without it i'd be so lost." i really didn't know what else to write. i just wanted to let someone know how i was feeling. the next day when i put the letter out to be mailed my mom asked, "are you sure you want to send this?" i nodded my head. it needed to be said. i needed him, them, to know.
i look back on it now and i wish that aws a letter i had kept. one of the many drafts that stayed with the others, unstamped in white envelopes with the same scrawled address.
i predicted the break-up a year before it happened. i was leaning up against the outside wall of my school -- overlooking the parking lot -- and i said to one of my friends, "i can feel it. they're going to break up soon." he just nodded. he didn't know the band like i did.
my life ended at the age of 18. i had predicted this too. he was 33 and i was 18 and in two years we'd be married. the logic behind this seemed to make sense i was starstruck, awestruck and dumbstruck. i had written another letter to him while waiting in line -- 9:30am to 4:30pm -- was a lot of time to kill. but once i was ushered inside, i was moving on instict. i can't remember what i was thinking exactly because it went so fast. words barely formed as i looked him in the eye.
it went something like:
me: can i have a hug?
him: sure, sweetie.
me: i was second in line and didn't get tickets.
him: does his thinky look.
me: i tried to get them from a scalper too.
him: i'll give you tickets sweetie.
i'm trying to remember my name and how to get out of the store. i realize once outside as i'm spinning in circles and yelling loudly inside my head that my letter is still in my hand. i'm not allowed to go back inside and no one else is close enough to hand it to them. it doesn't matter now. nothing matters.
that was my one goal. my make-a-wish had come true.
now it's not the same. when i listen to the songs they are just songs now. i want to hear what i did back then. i want to feel that alive somehow. i just can't and they have never been replaced. it just ended and i moved on to new bands and new songs. but they will always be number one.
¶ 7:19 PM
|
it happened months ago but i still feel sick to my stomach. at least it's less dramatic and no one mourns the loss of a one album rock and roll band. everything is easier the second time around.
_______________________________________________
i wrote you a letter when i was 16. i remember the ink kept smudging with a combination of my clumsy fingers and the taers running down my cheeks. i kept writing "i live through your music" and "its gotten me through this and without it i'd be so lost." i really didn't know what else to write. i just wanted to let someone know how i was feeling. the next day when i put the letter out to be mailed my mom asked, "are you sure you want to send this?" i nodded my head. it needed to be said. i needed him, them, to know.
i look back on it now and i wish that aws a letter i had kept. one of the many drafts that stayed with the others, unstamped in white envelopes with the same scrawled address.
i predicted the break-up a year before it happened. i was leaning up against the outside wall of my school -- overlooking the parking lot -- and i said to one of my friends, "i can feel it. they're going to break up soon." he just nodded. he didn't know the band like i did.
my life ended at the age of 18. i had predicted this too. he was 33 and i was 18 and in two years we'd be married. the logic behind this seemed to make sense i was starstruck, awestruck and dumbstruck. i had written another letter to him while waiting in line -- 9:30am to 4:30pm -- was a lot of time to kill. but once i was ushered inside, i was moving on instict. i can't remember what i was thinking exactly because it went so fast. words barely formed as i looked him in the eye.
it went something like:
me: can i have a hug?
him: sure, sweetie.
me: i was second in line and didn't get tickets.
him: does his thinky look.
me: i tried to get them from a scalper too.
him: i'll give you tickets sweetie.
i'm trying to remember my name and how to get out of the store. i realize once outside as i'm spinning in circles and yelling loudly inside my head that my letter is still in my hand. i'm not allowed to go back inside and no one else is close enough to hand it to them. it doesn't matter now. nothing matters.
that was my one goal. my make-a-wish had come true.
now it's not the same. when i listen to the songs they are just songs now. i want to hear what i did back then. i want to feel that alive somehow. i just can't and they have never been replaced. it just ended and i moved on to new bands and new songs. but they will always be number one.
¶ 7:19 PM
|
