to my dearest Rockstar, M.
One, two, time is ticking. He's humming; I look at him. Then he starts to strum his guitar. Humming again. You know, the only reason I can bump my head up and down is because of the guitar's rhythm. Then our eyes meet, he's giggling, and so am I. One minute, the guitar's rhythm still harmonizes with his humming, and my eyes are still on the phenomenal book in my hand. Before he starts a sentence with a tone, he is completely silent. "First you crashed into my life and you just broke," he sings, accompanied by the harmonizing guitar. "Who told me love would come down like a million rocks.." That line is so intense it breaks my focus for a minute before I decide to check on him. Oh, look at him sitting there with his eyes closed, rhyming with the guitar and his voice—which he actually does. You know it's good when you have to look at him with your hands supporting your chin on your thighs. Then he starts to sing the next verse, or maybe the refrain, I'm not sure. "You are my Rockstar.." oh. Our eyes meet. He stares at me. He stares at me with nothing to say, just,
"Without you I'll always feel alone,
When I'm lost you guide me home, yeah,
You make my whole heart..
When nothing adds up, I'll be your number,
You're hundred and six, and I'm ninety-four, yeah."
Damn. Right now, it's not just my head that's bumping; my heart is too. It does so well that I can't get up just to realize. I didn't realize he had me falling a hundred and six feet under my home. Probably will get back when I'm ninety-four. But that's not going to be a problem; perhaps I can spend my two hundred years with him down there.
I may be under my home, but what matters is, I'm there with my home.
