EVERYONE'S A STAR, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING JOHNNY BALLARD & PETER LARKIN. @dig6.
Somewhere, riddled in those sentiments, he heard the voice of Mother Love. With her wildly untamed red curls and propensity for playing judge, jury, and executioner. He saw her everywhere, in everything … like a lingering specter, sending cold chills down the length of his spine. She breathed life into towns like this, for him. Dirty little secrets running like an undercurrent beneath the mounds of dirt, through the trees. Little people with their little lives, days and nights that seemed to stretch on forever. The lingering sense that something was always just a bit wrong … off-kilter, truths half-buried in the ground. The burning gazes that marred the flesh like judgement day, silent whispers spreading rumor like infection. In this place, everyone was a sinner. Just some more than others. He knew this town. He grew up in this town, in a sense. He had escaped it, physically, sure. But Johnny feared that his mind would always wander back to that little corner of the desert, a prisoner of his own thoughts.
❛ I mean … no offense, but that’s some bullshit. People are always changing, every fucking day, and like, with you? Your frontal lobe isn’t even fully developed yet ── everybody is a work in progress until the day they die, so I really don’t know what she’s talking about. ❜
Maybe he was trying to convince Peter. But maybe he was trying to remind himself. There were days where he felt he’d come a long way, and there were days where he reverted right back to being the very same scared thirteen year old little boy he was always so desperately trying to repair. And what was the measurement of progress, really? Was it stretching out how many hours you could go without feeling the overwhelming burden of every fucking problem you’ve ever had? Was it attempting to scrape them out like a tumor? He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. But maybe, just maybe, he should call his therapist later and ask.
