The music is my time machine. I am 17 and I feel alive. And then my world seems to be slipping, crumbling away and all I know for sure is that it hurts and the black is consuming me. I am angry and sad and ready for a fresh start. It’s the summer of ‘93 and I am finally free. And then I am sitting alone in a parking lot and the music plays over and over and there’s nothing to do but stare. Eventually, I learn to live in the present tense. Maybe I have lost sight? No, I must be happy. I hope that one day he will come back. Sometimes, the rain feels good. I can’t explain it.