Bright Lights
Bright lights. Bright lights glaring into your eyes. Bright lights that make your eyes water. But they were already watering. Already tear-filled.
But no one needs to know that. Because if they did, they�d want to know what the matter was, and you can�t lie to them- especially him. But you can�t tell them either- especially him. Definitely not him.
So you don�t let them know. You wear your sunglasses most of the time- it keeps your eyes from showing their teary-sheen. You told them that the light hurt your eyes- they didn�t even think about the fact that your eyes had never acted up before.
Of course, they noticed your lack of enthusiasm for partying. They knew you had never liked it much to start with, because, well, you were a straight edge. You were contemplating XX, but until then, you held your own with the permanent marker shit they made you use at clubs when you were under aged. It worked.
But they really didn�t do more than ask you if you were okay as they sprinted out the door, leaving you alone, in a strange city, sad and depressed.
Because you knew you couldn�t have him. You knew he�d never like you back. You knew that even as you accepted the fact you�d fallen head over heals for him.
Now you were on stage, your guitar in hand as you watched the shorter, lead guitarist. The other one had bounced off to the other side of the stage� And your eyes watered again at the sight of him looking at the girls in the crowd.
Yes, you�d fallen. And it hurt. But at least you were near him. At least you were around him.
You sighed, your fingers running over the guitar in your hand, your eyes squinting against the tears and the lights.
The bright lights.
The bright lights that made your eyes water.
But they were already tear filled.
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