If some were to ask me why it is I write

(and, I say, no one quite yet has)

There would be a couple stories

I would have to entertain them with,

So maybe they could get the smallest inkling

Of what it was like to sit in a coffee shop,

A secret love to your left,

A best friend to your right,

And in front of you a man spouting words

That make you feel emotions that you’ve

Never quite felt before,

Emotions that drive you in ways you’ve

Never quite experienced,

And only when someone has sat through

What I’ve sat through

Even on sleepless, heart wrecking nights,

Even on nights when I felt the world was mine,

Even on nights I don’t remember,

Only then might they even begin to know what it was like.

Only then can someone approach their childhood heroes

And say, hey man, you really changed me,

Changed me for the better and the worse

Because I don’t remember those times now,

I only see the scars,

And the scars are the words that I penned carelessly for years

And I never could really stop.