maybe iām cheating here, but i donāt really care, cause thereās no other way i could say what i want to say:
i donāt know what i did to get you in my life.Ā
cause hereās the thing: iāve fucked up. iāve fucked up a looooott.Ā
and somehow, the universe saw me fit to deserve you. was i a baby-saving organ donor nun in a past life? maybe. clearly i did something right, because now i have you.Ā
i was talking to ry about this the other day- he messaged me telling me how superior panic was to fob, and being the dick i was, i was set to say how shitty you were (i know, i know. iām sorry.)
but then, somehow i realized. hey, i thought. these kids are fucking good. and then i made one of the best decisions i probably ever made ever: i replied.Ā
where would i be if i didnāt ever respond to that message? probably either in rehab or dead, cause you gave me something i needed even back then.
so i responded, and we talked, and i flew out to vegas, and i signed you. and there were things in between- like watching you perform (brendon had-still has-the most natural charisma iāve ever seen. itās beautiful, watching him onstage, like itās what he was born to do.) watching you perform, and having meetings with you about the band where you mostly just had me buy you food, and okay, yeah, fucking ryan in hotel rooms.Ā
shitty thing to do, i know, but you need to remember i was absolutely out of my fucking mind at this point. and there was this boy, all skinny wrists and awkward long limbs and big brown eyes, and he was so fucking adoring, so fucking pretty, and iām only fucking human. couldnāt resist him then, canāt now. so that happened, and i got everything set with the label, and then i went back to la.Ā
and i went back to fucking strangers and shoving needles in my veins and pills down my throat. i think that maybe some part of me thought that if i died, panic could be my parting gift to the world. something to offer in my place.
iām so fucking glad i didnāt.Ā
and around then, things were messy. cause i was still getting through the aftermath of mikeyway, and none of the words had been coming out right, not since i left vegas, and somewhere in the middle of that i went to best buy. and you know that, youāve heard that story, so i donāt want to repeat it. bren cried, i told him i was okay now, and we snuggled, and it was okay because we always are.
fast forward. iāve been fucking up like i do. less severely, ever since the best buy-iām still drinking like a middle-aged trophy wife trying to forget her husbandās affairs, but iām not taking the pills anymore, nothing stronger than alcohol and weed sometimes.Ā
and you guys start to make it. i donāt talk to you much, donāt talk to anyone much, besides patrick, but i hear things, and i hear that youāre doing so fucking good out there in the world. and i feel so fucking proud of you.
i go to a few shows. brendon is radiant, ryan beaming despite his outward emo-ness, the kids are looking at you like theyāre witnessing the rapture.Ā
i hear that youāre dating, dating each other. and maybe iām kind of jealous like i always am, but iām happy, cause that feels right like things never do anymore. my brain doesnāt know what to do with the holes the pills used to fill, and maybe hearing that makes it ache a little less.Ā
i finish writing. we release cork tree. we tour.Ā
ten months back from today:
i find out my ex-girlfriend- the First One, the only one back then who wasnāt mikey- i find out sheās getting married. and maybe it doesnāt mean much- thinking about it now, i donāt feel anything. but then, it triggered something, and maybe i locked myself inside my house for two weeks, and maybe i only left cause i was out of liquor and poptarts. and then after that, i left sometimes, but we took a break from performing. and the doors werenāt technically locked, but everybody knew i wasnāt leaving.Ā
i had a lot of existential crisises then. lay on my floor a lot. i considered it a lot-dying. i didnāt, well, obviously, cause iām still here. but i thought about it. i thought about it every day.Ā
i didnāt have the energy to die.Ā
and then i heard from you again, months later. and we had texted sporadically, sure. talked band stuff. you said you liked the album and i said the same for yours. it didnāt really mean much.
and then we started talking again, both of you on your tour buses wherever you were and me off in la locked in my mansion with my dog (who got very tired of my shit, by the way.) and it made me happy in a way that things didnāt do anymore.
hereās my favorite part: i convinced you to visit, and you did. and you flew out here and you came here and you stayed and you never left, and i really hope you never will.Ā
you make me better. it sounds weird, i know. see, though, patrick keeps me sane, and you keep me better. you make me want to make myself someone worthy of you. and im going to try to make that happen, no matter how much i fucked up before.Ā
and people say things, and people ask questions, and they donāt think that we work. but we do, and thatās what matters. me being yours and you being mine, thatās what matters, cause we fit, and we make it work. and maybe someday all the old scars are going to fade, but if they donāt thatās okay too, cause weāre going to kiss them better, and even if they donāt go away they wonāt be things of sadness anymore.Ā
itās early, and youāre sleeping. i never went to bed. i donāt normally. iām at the foot of the bed- youāre curled together like you always are, fit perfectly like you should. iām probably going to put my laptop away and join you after i stop writing this. i want to be with you even if i donāt end up falling asleep (and letās be real, i wonāt.)Ā
thank you for staying. thank you for existing. thank you for putting up with my bullshit.Ā
i love you so fucking much.Ā