2 years later… ~o~ Justin ‘When you lose something you can’t replace. When you love someone, but it goes to waste. Could it be worse?’ I don’t know, but it’s just awful. To know, always, that there was so much and now it’s gone. To gaze back, eyes blurring, at the memories and the emotions and the effort… and the love. So much love. Gone, lost, missing. But the scar remains, the phantom pain. Like an amputation gone wrong. So wrong, on so many counts. I can still remember the last time I saw him. He was leaving Babylon, and he looked… scared. Shaken up. It was so strange to see him that way, I immediately wanted to go to him, ask him what was wrong… hold him. But the look in his eyes held me back. It was so intense… and there were so many things I could read, just in that look. He took a step forward, and I knew, I just knew something big was going to happen. But then, Emmet said something, and by the time I looked back, he was getting into a car and pulling away. Whatever could have happened then was lost, and the fact that just this moment, which probably meant nothing, kept me awake for days, was what helped me decide. I couldn’t stay in the Pitts. I would never, ever be free from Brian, and from the memories and I couldn’t face living with the ghost of us - it was too much. The review after my show, Lindsay’s encouragement - it pointed me to my next step. New York. So I moved, and tried my hand at being an artist. It’s actually working… I’m slowly, but surely, getting there. It’s everything I dreamed of… but then again, it’s not. ‘Memories of a perfect time…’ It’s like a dream. And sometimes it’s so absolutely present, I swear I hear his voice. It’s almost a strange luxury I allow myself, to remember. Now that the pain and constant sorrow and remembrance don’t haunt my every waking breath, I can afford to look back and remember. But if I’m not careful, I get lost in the memories. ‘Stuck in reverse.’ ‘We dream of discovering a perfect trail to the answers that will seal our pale faces.’ But there are none. No answers. Just silence, an impenetrable silence. And time… time passing, time passing. Seconds, minutes, days, months… they feel like years. They feel like a lifetime. They feel like yesterday. You know I haven’t talked to him since then? I called him, left a message on his machine. He asked me to let him know where I was going, and I did. But he never called back. And there’s been nothing, not a call, not an e-mail. Nothing. For a while, it was better that way. And there were so many excuses ready to not go back to Pittsburgh - from money, to shows, to inspiration and the muse striking… When I called home my mom didn’t even mention his name. But as time went by, I just had to know how he was doing. So now, whenever I call mom or Debbie, or even write Michael about Rage or whatever, they let something slip. They know it hurts to ask. So here I am. Little Sunshine, all grown up. The boy who lived, the little twink that could. I survived the bashing, and loving Brian Kinney, and now I’m making it in the Big Apple. Yeah, I’m just great. Who am I fucking kidding? And I try to find something in myself, something that’s numb and scared… and almost dead. I try to bring it back to life, try to breathe some hope into it. Because I’m desperate to feel again, desperate to love again. It’s just… I can’t. I ask and ask and ask… but there are no answers to be had. Simply silence, just quietness. A daunting emptiness. ‘It’s flickering out.’ Why the fuck can’t I stop loving him? I was strong enough to leave, to walk away… why am I not strong enough to just stop? Fuck love. Nobody ever tells you it’s like this. This, this. This is flickering out. It was a slow burning candle. A flame. A fire. An inferno. And now, it’s flickering out… the warmth it once gave is nothing but a ghost, a ghost that burns and doesn’t comfort. A spitting spark that instead of banishing the shadows, brings the darkness into relief. The dark corners. That’s how this is - that’s how this love ends. Flickering out. It was never supposed to end like this. ‘Will we meet again? I hope somehow, even if we pass you on your way out’. Maybe. I hope so. Will we be strangers? Polite and distant, unfeeling and oblivious. Nonchalant. ‘You were the fucking love of my life.’ Sentences that mean the world thrown out like cheap change. Like meaningless chatter. Like nothing. Losing meaning. And then again, we might not be. We could be an inevitable reaction, an easy coming together. A familiar rush. A rushing embrace. A sure and heavy reacquaintance. Bittersweet. “Justin?” A sleep-laden voice interrupts my musings. “Can’t sleep again? What’s wrong?” I turn from my place in the window, look towards the man lying in my bed. I try a smile, though I’m sure it’s more of a grimace. “Nothing… pre-show jitters.” Yeah… that, and you’re the wrong man, and I can’t help but feel that however perfect, I’m living the wrong life. * TBC Author’s note: chapter title is a song by The Shins. Songs quoted are, in order: Fix You by Coldplay, and all the rest is The Atrocity by Biffy Clyro. Please, tell me what you think, feedback makes my day :)