oh, it's what you do to me.
Thank you for making the suburban middle class white twentysomethings feel like it's okay to be unhappy with their (im)perfect life because of all the demons in their brains.
On the barricade, career goals don't matter.
Screaming lyrics are a declaration of love for those who wrote them.
He stood on the edge of the stage scanning the crowd, I pointed (screaming along) he pointed back and smiled in that way, that he does, that only he can.
I was the (only?) one in a crowd of 500+ that didn't want an autograph, but got a hug instead. He always lights up, he always hugs me, before I can register who hugged first (he did). "It was good to see you the other night! Are you going to be there Wednesday?" A special invite or what he says to everyone? BUFFALO? REALLY? REAAAALLLLY? Maniacal laughter knowing I'd go to the ends of the earth but I can't and I shouldn't and I have a job and I'm an adult. Karaoke tonight? "Yes!" That smile again.
He's staring at you. He's watching you. She's watching you! She's dancing along. He waved, the smile. I know, I know, I know...having fun, ignoring him is my way of presenting normality. "Oh, we're halfway there/Oh, living on a prayer" and "Don't stop/Believing/Hold on to that feeling" He's leaving because she's dragging him, skinny stick arm halfway out the door already and he's tugging back to get at me. The wave, the smile. Interruptions from the media, he still makes it over. A hug, the smooshy kind, his cheek pressed against my lips before I could decide whether or not to kiss him the choice made for me. Thank you whispers and we're closer than before.
"Our smiles are just a commercial for how normal we are...
I swear to god I have come to love some of you so dearly.
I count on you to get me by."
On the barricade, career goals don't matter.
Screaming lyrics are a declaration of love for those who wrote them.
He stood on the edge of the stage scanning the crowd, I pointed (screaming along) he pointed back and smiled in that way, that he does, that only he can.
I was the (only?) one in a crowd of 500+ that didn't want an autograph, but got a hug instead. He always lights up, he always hugs me, before I can register who hugged first (he did). "It was good to see you the other night! Are you going to be there Wednesday?" A special invite or what he says to everyone? BUFFALO? REALLY? REAAAALLLLY? Maniacal laughter knowing I'd go to the ends of the earth but I can't and I shouldn't and I have a job and I'm an adult. Karaoke tonight? "Yes!" That smile again.
He's staring at you. He's watching you. She's watching you! She's dancing along. He waved, the smile. I know, I know, I know...having fun, ignoring him is my way of presenting normality. "Oh, we're halfway there/Oh, living on a prayer" and "Don't stop/Believing/Hold on to that feeling" He's leaving because she's dragging him, skinny stick arm halfway out the door already and he's tugging back to get at me. The wave, the smile. Interruptions from the media, he still makes it over. A hug, the smooshy kind, his cheek pressed against my lips before I could decide whether or not to kiss him the choice made for me. Thank you whispers and we're closer than before.
"Our smiles are just a commercial for how normal we are...
I swear to god I have come to love some of you so dearly.
I count on you to get me by."