"...have openly applauded your genius during the days of 'Louder than bombs' and 'Strangeways, here we come', yet you have positioned yourself ever-ready as rent-a-quote whenever the press require an ugly slant on something I half-said during the last glacial period as the Colorado River began to carve out the Grand Canyon. Please stop. It is 2022, not 1982."
Morrissey was finally done with his much debated open letter to his former lover, Johnny Marr. After many hours toiling at his computer in his bespoke and cool Californian villa he finally did it. He completed his vent, he finally spoke his mind and he thought that by doing so he could maybe finally free himself from his 40 year heartache-as if something would change within himself but it did not. It never did. It never will. For the man that has everything he ever wanted- Fame, Money, Power and Adoration from his fans he felt so incredibly hollow. He missed the warm and tender feeling of a hug from his beloved. Those early days where nothing mattered and it was just him and Marr recording 'I want a boy for my birthday' in Marr's attic was something his mind, body and soul yearns for, he craves it and he needs it.
'After all this time, all these years, why does he do this to me? why does Johnny say such wretched and ghastly things about me? All I ever did was give him my love, my love and my time. All for naught... oh dear, oh dear... still after all these years I cannot escape him. I am ensnared and enchanted, yet I hate the man.'
Morrissey was pacing around his living room which was elegantly painted by the dull, faded lights of Los Angeles. Old iconic pictures of him and his life decorated the wall, with a Dorian Grey esque fashion. As he continued towards the bedroom, Morrissey gently placed a bespoke wine glass down by his bedside table and he poured out some vintage Red Wine. (During the periods when his memory and nostalgia choked him, a few sips would steady his nerves, but alas, there was no such remedy for him tonight.)
'I haunt myself as much as he haunts me, a dark river of desire flows beneath my every word said about and to him... I need to stop drinking this wine, I no longer find any happy hazes- just more and more complete oblivion.'
During this slightly slurred speech, Morrissey was looking at the picture he saved of Marr- the one on his bedside. His framed little Prince Charming, the one who looks over and protects him, the one that got away. Morrissey knew he wouldn't be holding a lighter head tonight and thus, in an emotionally weak moment- He opened the drawer. Johnny's old letters to him reside there, the promises of eternal love and the sweet, hushed whispers of what could've been. The wishes his heart still cannot fully reject, even after all this time.
'Johnny, oh my sweet darling boy, I drink to forget but I always remember- I remember those idle summer joys and sweet evenings spend in your warm and soft embrace. It was poetry and I have never loved before or since... I cannot forget, I will not forget. I have to stop running from the ghosts of my past... It is time to re-read these and banish them from the remainder of my days...'
