~Her words were my poison. I used them to consume myself.
Disturbingly honest. Painfully strained. Carefully penned down. Dangerously addictive.~
A journal that landed in the right hands and told a whole story with words, no lips could speak.
Two...
I'm so grateful for good music. Nothing feels better than sitting down and just losing yourself in music that's so good it reaches out and punches you in the face. I know I used to complain about it. About how so much of it talks about the same things and the same feelings and there's nothing new that people pretend to feel, not even for the songwriting process.
But I don't hate it so much now. I just appreciate it now. The fact that so much music exists to say the same thing from different perspectives makes me happy. Because so much of what we feel is different only because we feel it and not someone else.
Because we're the secret magic ingredient in this often unbalanced chemistry equation.
Isn't that just fucking brilliant? All of us feeling things looking for the closest substitute in media. And if we can't find it we just make it ourselves. Fuck.
We change so much around us.
I was talking to Chase about how in time travel, so much of the butterfly effect is just us being there and changing stuff just by existing. I'd love to time travel. Change the past, break the space time continuum. Change people and lives and everything else. And Chase looked at me with this weird look in his eyes and said that I had already changed everything.
And I don't think I'll ever get over that.
P. S. I know it looks like I only tell things to Chase but that's not true. I only write about the things I tell him. And Chase represents more than you'd think.
I couldn't stop thinking about Wendy. Sure, I trusted Finn. But if Wendy told him to keep a secret he'd do it, without question. And if she wasn't telling anyone else it probably was something that meant a lot to her.
And it's not like I had anything else to do. Finn was on his third beer, which meant he was approaching incoherence. Lock was on another planet. I knew this was supposed to be for me to loosen up but I was glad at least someone was still in the mood.
"Hey, Drax, what time is it?" Finn asked, gleefully.
"Uh--it's approaching five."
"Wrong! It's been fourteen days!" He giggled. Wendy was the only one who could make any sense of drunk Finn.
"Do you wanna go home?" I asked him.
"Nope. I'm just fine. Fine as fuck!" He paused, "yes, I want to go home," he said softly now.
"Great, I'll go grab Lock." That was going to be harder, I imagined. He had been forced off the table but that didn't stop him from being an inconvenience.
"Lock, we gotta go." I said, picking him off the floor, stinking.
"No," he said, throwing himself into a chair.
"Bud, are you okay?"
"Drax, you need to chill out!"
"I'm fine, can we leave now?"
"You want to leave?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, fine. We'll leave then."
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