to fix the twist in you
Title: to fix the twist in you
I had the pleasure of doing a beautiful prompt from anon_lovefest. I once lay face down in the river to hold my breath and count the shivers. I was the only young man crying in the water. It’s not that I wish I drowned; it’s just that, since I reached the sand, I don’t know who I am. Since I left my home, all the past feels like I’m dreaming; I dreamt I was a man whose soul was worth redeeming. The lyrics are from "Morrissey Smiling" by Frau Eva.
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Brendon's never been entirely content with himself; he feels like his life is an allusion and he's never liked what he can't see clearly. Sometimes he shuts his eyes in the shower and lets the water fall on him, solid and pounding and hot enough his skin turns a faint red, and pretends that he dreams just like everyone else.
Sometimes he shuts his eyes in the shower to keep the tears from streaming out, but sometimes they leak out anyways.
Sometimes he crawls out of his bunk in the dead of night and sits on the couch and stares at nothing. He counts the seconds and nothingness consumes his mind and it feels fine.
He's been good at putting on a façade for everyone on the days that he doesn't feel like crawling out of bed, but does - which, he knows, should slowly dwindle as the years pass; he'll eventually get over this, but then again, there are just some things you never get over - and sometimes, it works.
It's not that he regrets his decision, or losing some of the tight ties he had once had with his family - his family had always been the second most important, constant in his life (next to music, of course), but even though they've all "taken him as he is now," the strain there is still quite palpable.
Sometimes, though, Brendon wonders why he chose to make himself happy. It took a lot of strength for him to gather up the courage to be self-righteous and by then, it'd felt right to be himself rather than just go with the flow. The hardest part of it all though, seemed like the fact that Brendon had chosen to "be himself," but he had no idea what that was; he thinks that's why he chose his dreams over everyone else's: to find out before someone else found out for him.
And at some point, Brendon comes to the realization that all dreams are made of are the things that make you happy. Sometimes that makes his decisions worthwhile and sometimes it makes them hurt even worse.
The past feels distant to him, sometimes, usually. He sees something, smells a familiar smell and tries to place the familiarity; usually, though, he can't recall whether it's from a memory or just something perfect and happy-family he dreamed up.
Sometimes, he tries to remember what his life was like before he met everyone he knows now that he didn't even fathom knowing people like ten years ago. Sometimes, he has pictures that come to him in his mind of a good schoolboy, who tried to keep up in school, but spent his days consumed by music. Of a boy who dutifully attended church and hung off his parents' every word apposed whoever hung the moon at some point in Brendon's foolish, impossibly pure, suddenly famous eyes.
Sometimes, when Brendon's vocal chords just ache, he follows along on his instruments or, when he forgets to do that, he just watches as his bandmates go through the movements.
Somewhere, on some particular sometime, someone notices Brendon spacing out, long past forlorn. Brendon knew that sometimes his façade failed - in this somewhere, someone pats Brendon on the shoulder and a comfortable warmth rushes through his body; it feels fine.
Somewhere, someone is handing Brendon a guitar and they're all walking onto stage. The crowd screams and chants and sings along with him and them, all the someones, and when it's all done, he keeps dreaming.