Choose Drugs (live) :: Julianna Hatfield and Evan Dando
You were the same boy in the green sweater, and me, well I was the same girl hiding behind her books and baggy clothing. Our eyes gave away our pasts, but we never let on who we had once been. We were too busy recreating ourselves, painting over our damaged canvases. The paint was cracked, yours, more than mine, at the time (though mine would catch up soon enough). I never realized how much pain you were trying to lose, I clung to tight to the romanticized notions of a girl who once fell so deeply in love with her idea of you. You emptied needle after needle into your veins, clouding you, caressing yourself with denial, and we all let it happen, did we not? We let you slip away. I just closed my eyes, and sang my along to my own song. It felt like I blinked and all of a sudden you were gone.
I should have stood in front of you and said stop, we both should have. We should have wrapped our arms around him and said choose us.
Random thoughts: I still remember how he smelled, the gold fleck in his soulful brown eyes, the sound of his laugh, the feel of riding in his red jeep, shotgun, next to him. I can almost feel the way the sunlight shadowed the walls in his room in the early morning when I woke up next to him, how some mornings I would pretend we were all grown-up, lovers, or maybe husband and wife, not just two best friends who had once again fallen asleep next to each other. I wish I had known more of what he was, what he was going through. I wish that I had not idolized him the way I did, that I had not let him take care of the two of us so much, though at the time it felt so good for someone to want to take care of me. I wish I had known a way to save him. I miss him still, that faded green sweater, and his smile, and the way he made me feel safe (I wish I had given him that kind of safety, too).