Saturday night was... weird
There was a guy there who I swear to god if I didn't know it was impossible, I would have thought it was Taylor. Tall, so tall I could see him over everyone else there, curly hair pulled back into a pony tail, black leather jacket, faint scent of Dragon's Blood incense lingering around him. I tried to avoid him, I turned away when I saw him, I walked into the other room if he was coming anywhere near me. It was all pointless because everywhere I turned that entire night, there he was. Seriously, EVERYWHERE I looked there he was. It was ridiculous.
Maybe if I hadn't felt a bit run down from being sick. Maybe if I hadn't had that last drink. Maybe it wouldn't have bothered me so much. But as it was I felt distinctly uncomfortable. I felt unsettled. I felt haunted.
He's been gone 13 years and every once in awhile it hits me like a smack in the face. I miss him still. I suppose I always will. But it is a lot easier to deal with when I am not being chased by a spectre of him. I suppose if I went and spoke to the guy at the club it would have dispelled the air of discomfort and uneasiness I was feeling. But honestly? The mere thought of approaching him, even now, days later, makes me tremble. Maybe I want to pretend that he has secretly been alive this last decade, living somewhere happily. Delusions, illusions.
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize.