Burning desire

Steven|02

Never thought I would see those fierce light blue eyes look at me again. Usually, that was the time during the concerts when I would get a grip and come back to reality after daydreaming about her and accidentally seeing her in someone else's face. But there she was.

Pouty lips with black lipstick, vintage tee, my vintage tee, the one she used to wear during our mornings together, with black leather pants and high heels. God, she looked beautiful. She had always been, but there was something different about her after two years, there was a more mature aura surrounding her now, an armor. My fault I guess. I can see she is affected by me, hell, I am still affected by her .

Not going to lie, I dreamed of having her backstage watching me since I started writing songs and wanting to be a rock star. She would be there cheering me up in between songs and if  my anxiety showed up all I had to do was look back and there would she be. My muse, my love, my cheesie.

But once upon a time she was there, by my side through everything. She was backstage when the "devils of the night" started playing in restaurants, later in proms and festivals, she was there from the beginning. Of course that's not how the story ended, actually things went down really differently and tragically. I broke her, and believe me, I know and I want to kill myself everyday for ruining everything, for making her cry and hurt. And I would be damned if I didn't try to fix things with her, but it just didn't happen.

What can I say? I was a 19 year old hypnotized by the wonders of fame and rock and roll. When you are young they assume you know nothing, but that night I fucking knew I'd lost her for good.

Coming back to reality, I begin singing the lyrics to the song I wrote for her when we were fifteen, while looking straight to those piercing iced blue eyes that stare back at me in challenge, "I want to write you a song, one that's beautiful as you are sweet. With just a little hint of pain for the feeling that I get when you are gone, I want to write you a love song..."

I look at Dane across the stage who just started his guitar solo. He looks at me, then down, to the crowds, to Mack and Lisa, and a girl I never saw in my life that's going apeshit over Luke on the drums. The lack of surprise in dane's expression says it all. He knew she was coming. Lisa called him. And no one fucking cared to tell me? Those fucking bastards.

Congratulations, they got the best reaction possible from me. And suddenly my heart is breaking again, not that it ever stopped hurting. I guess I just learned to live with the hurt. With alcohol and nicotine, and girls, who I would imagine it was her. Fucking done.

I just need to leave this arena, this stage. Because right now I feel like air has escaped my lungs, sweat falls down my back, and I fight to stay trapped and not run away backstage, or the worst possibility ever- throw myself from the stage and kiss her senseless, beg for forgiveness. No, she would kill me, and possibly punch me. Not that I didn't deserve that. 

So I fight and finally take my eyes off her, coming back to focusing on the guitar in my hands and the lyrics I'm supposed to sing. Just a few more hours, then I can leave, snap at my bandmates for this fucked up prank they just pulled, and find a place to get drunk, forget about her. Maybe I will write a song about it too, a new single. And I can hookup with a model in a way to take away the pain.
It's a miserable life, a vicious cycle, but it's not like I can help it, I made my bed after all. This is all my fault.

And for now, I sing, the only way to calm my thoughts and angst, the only way to tell her and the world how I really feel.