You gave me a hope that one day maybe I wouldn’t feel so strange, and I clung to that hope. That there were other people out there just as strange as me. People preoccupied with death, and thought, and poetry and beauty. People who lived their life with the first layer of skin peeled off, raw to the world and always bleeding.
You tore out my heart and sung it back to me and made it more beautiful than I ever thought was possible. During the darkest times, a familiar film played in my head and it kept me going: I am out of my bed, dancing wildly to those drums, screaming those words that I wished to be true, to a crowd of people who feel exactly the same as me. I deafened myself with those songs, they left my ears ringing and my brain longing for the sound of those horses coming.
Lungs helped me to breathe.
At every stage of my life, you have picked me up and carried me through. But most importantly, every time I hit a wall we sit together, you and I, and we get through it. You are the greatest therapist I ever had, because you made me realise I am not alone. I have driven with you, showered with you, you have shared my bed, you have shared my heart.
You made me realise that I was not the only person who felt this way - who drowned in the weight of their existence, who loved and lost and felt all of it so violently to their core that they feared it may kill them. Not the only one that played the part of an extrovert whilst craving the opportunity to slink back into the shadows and the solitude.
You showed me that all of these feelings could be turned into something beautiful, no matter how morbid or dangerous they were. But most importantly, whenever I have started to doubt my place in this world, I let you sing in my ear and I wait.
I wait for happiness to hit me.