As soon as he snuck around that curtained corner and into that 2-hour-long,10 foot distance between us, emotion poured from my eyes involuntarily. The man whose picture was pasted across every available inch of space on my wall. The man whom I went to bed dreaming about nearly every night since 1993. The man who devirginized my eyes to meaningful music. The man that opened my eyes to the world at such a young age. The man whose words and music created some of the best memories in my entire existence. The man who inspired me to write outside the box. The man whose music filled incalculable days of depression and loneliness with hope and relief. The man whose face I fell asleep staring at for 11 years. The man whose songs saved me from fatal, self-inflicted harm. The man who fills me with such intense energy that I feared exploding--the man who was standing 10 feet away from me, for the first time in an entire lifetime. No one else existed. It was him, my memories and myself, as just looking at him was one of the most beautiful sights that these filthy, dirty eyes have ever had the pleasure of seeing. I was watching his hands so attentively and obsessively; they were hypnotic, as if he were, by some unseen force, pulling these sounds straight down from heaven. I've always loved his hands to begin with. I'd spend hours upon hours watching the Vieuphoria video, just watching his hands. I love the way he holds a guitar, as if it were just meant to be there. My tears were tears of beauty, pain, memories and thankfulness. I cared little that I was a bawling mess amidst 1,000 other people who were nearly invisible to me. It was 2 hours of just Billy and I. The top 3, two-hours I've spent. Ever.
The Electric Factory
3:38 a.m.//06.26.05
Mood: Moved
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