Sunday, October 18, 2009

There was a face behind yours too.

I was going to float that night, like the little boy in the picture, out into the sky. I'm tired of the fluttering of that restless bird inside my chest. It can't see what I see, can't see the faces behind the faces.
I was going to float that night.

I have to document this. I fucking love Breaking Benjamin. yeah, I love this band. I love this band and I will still follow whatever they release. and If I make it to Europe next summer like I'm making believe I will, and they performed anywhere I could reach, I will be there. I will be there, at a Breaking Benjamin concert, having the phase of you all over my head, while it's getting dizzy from all the screaming. And I know forgetfulness will not be bestowed by a few hours of tune, but I already live well along with the existence of the facts you created. I'd still go, I'd still keep them on my folder, I'd still trace the energy in the intensity they bring. I'd still relate to their words. I would still let them carry me for me. And I would still scrutinize them to settle on your song in each and probably every single album from now on. Was it a surprise that there had to be at least one line in each of the 11 new songs that brought back a piece of you? Was it a surprise that almost none of these lines were even similar for the references?
I still managed to remember too much of you. This is what your lines have proven. I still can tell which would be the ones you would choose for yourself. And it should stop because it's useless. And if it doesn't, I shall simply watch them go by, without a response. These are easier to stop.

That joke, it will not get to me at its irony. It would show me I can tell the future without knowing. As pathetic as my self-relief system works, it amuses me sometimes.

I did not notice the yellow paper was even gone except after a while. Tells something too, doesn't it? I lost my most precious memory of you from my wallet, but that does not appear to have any effect on how much the words on the paper linger for longer whiles than than I would like them to. Or, well, longer than the part of me that operates on Reason would.

Well, I've grown, and here's my grown end line, I hope the whole sky fit the little boy, I hope the bird is warm and in no more need to flutter, I hope floating feels as good as you've always thought it to be.
For what it's worth, I really do.

May God's love be with you, always.

Goodbye, imaginary friend.