To All of the Bands/Musicians I Love but Will Never Know.

To All of the Bands/Musicians I Love but Will Never Know,

Dear Strangers,
I will never know you.
The truth.
It hurts like heartbreak because it is exactly that.

A forever moment, only one of continuous wall-in-face, like a never ending hallway. Listening to the music until it becomes an indistinct sound.

I know you’re more than a stage presence. I know because I see your public social media accounts, snapchat stories, and intimate interviews. Is this insight into your life a curse for the both of us? You get into a fight with your girlfriend/boyfriend and I know instantly. I feel it too, somehow, but I can’t comfort you.

Realness – fans will feed off of it. “Realness”- then we must understand that we’re all assholes sometimes. It’ll drive us all mad to aim for society’s “perfection”, but some of us do it anyway. I like when you embrace your madness.

I can’t pay anymore money to take photos with you or tell you I love you, only to be told to “hurry up”. (Sighs from all the people that work for you enter the room. Or do you work for them?)

Do you know why I care about you just as much as I care about the music? You are the incredible creator behind my inspiration. You stand underneath, or maybe fly above, the path I pave. I might not create music, but even the thought of making something sound so beautiful, so invigorating- what a dream! The invisible bolt between us is unheard of in my everyday life “Hi, How are you?” interactions.

But maybe you think I’ll spare the details of our conversation to the paparazzi or even worse, to my Instagram followers.

Im sorry it has to be that way. I wish it wasn’t. Trust is a distant thought, it’s easier to forget it’s existence than to open the door to vulnerability.

The only thing I can do now is pray that I’ll meet you in another life. In another life we’ll get coffee somewhere in Europe while we talk about who we think we were in our past lives. I’ll think you were some crazy guy who lived in a lonely cabin in the woods, while you ponder the idea that I was a cat that acted more like a dog than anything. We’ll babble for hours with no other place to be.

I’m never going to stop trying. I will always be available, maybe too available. I’ve seen prettier people with you who were once standing where I was, because they’re prettier, but I don’t think I can stop trying.

Standing in a room full of people, there you are on stage. I am in the music, content, balanced. This is alright, I think. My heart is racing with love, or is it yearning for something more than what is in the air. Something tangible, is it you or simply who you are? Or is it something more than that?

I want to know you, but I never will.

It’s okay.

A stranger.

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