==> You strum an E major chord.
Sim: nothing seems to kill me
Sim: no matter how hard i try
Sim: nothing's closing my eyes
Sim: nothing can beat me down for your pain or delight, no
Your chest sinks as you sing, a lonely feeling growing in your gut. You hate singing sad songs, but you keep finding yourself humming them; teasing out the melodies when you play guitar. You go to record stores and hover over the nineties grunge, thumbing through the albums and staring at their covers.
You never had thoughts like these when you were younger. They’re so new you barely have words to describe them. Not sad thoughts, but thoughts with the absence of feeling. Sometimes you feel like an observer to your own life. Watching yourself play guitar in an empty park on a Friday night. Meta.
If Dee was here, he’d never let you play songs like this - not that he’d stop you, but you wouldn’t even think to start. You think of calling him, but something stops you. He’s probably still at work; you remember when he first picked up that bartending job, it was sooo sucky that he couldn’t go out on Friday nights anymore.
You think about how he’s the only person who knows how lame you got after high school, and yet he still chooses to hang out with you. Maybe it's because he knew, even before graduation, how secretly lame you've always been.
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