A Tribute

 

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.

 

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