So long, and Goodnight

The Waves, they were polite

Sweet heart,

Have you been deep into a meril ? Ain’t ya feel high on emotional drugs sweety ? Ain’t ye talking about talking with your writing. The desk might be feeling like a brain stroke to you isn’t it ? I know how horrifying it is because I experience it with you, striking your body the whole time. Starting your first attempt ? Good.

I was seeing you when you were working, and you suddenly felt startled, I know the table was feeling slant to you. I know how you were feeling, threatened, scared and almost suffocating. It feels very dumb the way you got up in a way, acting in a way you won’t be noticed and checked if the leveling of the desk legs was really wrong or not. Irony from you eats me top to bottom.

I know how the chemicals in your mind are shooting the whole time. It’s so trivial how you’re glorifying things in your mind, I am purposely trivializing things to be very, very honest. Because, I know that is going to make you angrier.

I know fucking hell about what you think. I know you want to see the marching band, so badly, your father never took you see one. He took you to the city, but how horrible of that man to never show a black parade. Pity on your life, that you’ve never seen a funeral from scratch, but its wrong on your parents. Because, the day you’ll have to attend their Black Parade, I’ll be there to see. To see what you’ll do.

I was reading your romantic history the other day. So many years of nothingness eh ? Liar. I don’t think you’ve had no affection for a single girl. Feels so dead about you now that I know these things.

Love your weird fantasies and obsessions though. The obsession you’re building for Gerard Way, day by day is fabulous. I am afraid of your jealousy though, the way you’re jealous about how he gets to wear multiple titles of creator, musician, writer, cartoonist, and artist. I know you’re jealous of him a lot, but maybe make your poetry a bit more deeper. Make the cars collide, lovers exchanging their lives with each other, or even you could try writing about sucking jelly from the candy pouch, pick up the guitar and start singing someday. Don’t just go on a trip inside your mind, imagining yourself as him on some stage. It’s not going to be helpful at all. I also know his “Helena” is helping you a lot and you’re interpreting it very differently. After so many years, it’s good to see you point at some person and say, “Heyy, I want to be like him”. Missed it in your childhood. It’s never late. You deserve a kiss from me for this. Let’s hope, you’re an artist some day, not a specific one. But a specialized generalist.

Gotta go, time’s passing, Carpenter. I’ll write more and about the repeating circle which you believe has no radius some day, when you’re a bit more brave. I will write again, I know I am helping you feel alive, couldn’t tolerate you being numb on the weekend after a relapse. Also, stop writing for some time and figure out an artistic way to sing and act in your theatre performane. Its way too poor to read things from you, now. I’ll write to you about “Your search for meaning” the next time. I’ll visit you someday, hold your hand tightly and let’s listen to a nice record together. Be Brave. Bye.

Love you sweety, Night