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I remember the day we met, my brother brought you home and presented me to you, I was just a shy boy that hid behind his hair (not that this has really changed) while you looked like a rockstar with your black leather jacket and guitar. I would sit outside my brother's door, listening to both of you chatting, about girls, about school and, principally, about music. You always sounded so excited, telling how you would be a rockstar one day and have everything you ever wanted to. I dream about it, going on stage with a million heads waiting for me, for us, you were there, singing your heart out for that endless crowd, looking angelic.
When Colin called me, saying that you wanted to see me playing I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was nervous, more than I should, honestly. I remember practicing and trembling when I played something wrong, maybe I’m not enough to be in a band with you, I would think, now I giggle every time I remember how clueless I was, I didn’t even consider that this could be something more. When the day finally came, I was almost dying, my shirt gripping my back, hands felt rigid and the strings felt like knife blades, digging into my fingers. But there you were, a smile growing at every note I played, straightening yourself on the couch like you didn’t want to miss a thing and not averting your gaze for any second. When I finally finished what felt like an entire festival, I was welcomed with your eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that I will never forget, they looked so bright, like a lake in the summertime, reflecting the sunny sky. I could melt just from remembering.
In the following years we became closer and closer. You would tell me everything and I would do the same. I felt so safe around you, I felt so loved. We would spend hours and hours writing and playing together, always up to whatever you wanted to experiment. When you would fall asleep on my shoulder, I get so nervous for fear I would wake you up. Your soft face against my body, so beautifully peaceful, a sight I could never forget.
Every time you look at me, every time you smile, I can hear this symphony in my head, full of violins and pianos; the strings perfectly played and the drums connected directly to my heart. I used to try to transfer this melody to paper, but it never sounded right, never felt as beautiful. I don’t think I will ever achieve such harmony, it would be impossible. Still, every music I make is thinking about you, thinking about how much of an inspiration you are to me, even though you are my friend, my best friend.
Oh, but when I finally understood that what I felt for you was more than platonic, my world fell to pieces; I was torn in the ruins of my own desire. I was afraid, not of God or any higher entity, but that you wouldn’t accept me. You were always a tolerant guy, but what would you think if it was me? Would your perception of me change? If yes, for the worse? God, I could feel my chest tightening just of thinking about this. Everything I build with you, gone, as fast as a blink, our friendship never to be restored again. I must admit, I was very paranoid, but it was so hard to assimilate all of this; the newfound fame; the attention; our reputation; my feelings about you. I was lost in the middle of the sea in a raft made of uncertainty and fear.
In the following years nothing had really changed; things just turned easier with the acceptance that we were famous. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was wrong. I felt a mean sensation of void in my stomach every time I thought of you, oh, and how much I thought of you. Your slender body that looked so fancy, sprawled on the couch, mumbling what I assume was lyrics. It would drive me crazy, my eyes would dart to whatever skin it could catch, thinking of how soft this delicate skin would be. My hands begged for your waist, that fit perfectly in them; my legs, dreaming of getting tangled in yours. You were the only thing I could think of, every day, for years, decades. And even to this day, my obsession with you never weakened.
All the times that I would catch myself thinking of you a gut-wrenching feeling would wash me over, the nausea getting worse by the second. You made me sick, my body couldn’t exist without you, or it would fall apart.
And now with 54, I’m still not over you, still not over your smile, your face, your body, your warmth. I think of you every day, I miss you even though you are here, one call away from me.
I hope you understand that, to this day, I still love you and I will always love you, doesn’t matter where or how you are.