Did Louis’ first selfie in ages
Foretell jokes on SNL’s stages?
Picasso? Not fluky.
The headphones? That’s Pooty.
And loud from New York, that’s what H is.
The Malibu rounds had us wincing;
There’s nowt that says love like fists clenching.
No one’s a believer
In knock-off H. Bieber
And a snog that made Pool Girl convincing.
Some packages get you a yacht
But work with the budget you’ve got:
Tag along with the crew,
Snap your breakfast for two,
And trust that the X marks the spot.
The formula’s never finessed:
Insta moots, dodgy pics, trashy press.
The Sun shouts “Exclusive!”
Which means it’s conclusive:
Strictly business and strictly BS.
In Cali, we’re high at the sight:
“An old friend of mine’s here tonight!”
With the boys of Bus 1
A healing’s begun—
Bitter ends turning sweet feels so right.
The thing that could always bring gladness
Will now surely always bring sadness.
Four men in black dress
Laid their brother to rest.
Liam’s gone? What the fuck is this madness?
Grief whispers he’s gone; I deny.
But she says it again, by and by.
Then she swears he’s still here:
“It’s not real, what you hear”—
I’m trapped in her back-and-forth lie.
So moved by the reblogs and tags on my last post. I almost left it in my drafts, worried I wasn’t grieving the right way. But, god, this fandom is such a special thing. A lightness has entered my heart, at the proof of 1D’s most memeworthy lyric: “If you ever feel alone ... don’t.” Thank you. However you’re grieving is right. And you are never on your own.
No matter how mad the word made us,
It always held hope — a “hiatus.”
I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.
The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.
And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.
We’ve lost hope.
It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.
It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.
That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.
I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.
I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”
What joy these five names used to carry:
Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry.
Now we ache to the core —
A strange new OT4
Signed, “Louis, Zayn, Niall and Harry.”
He took the stage first, just a boy,
Now the first one to leave, just a boy.
Nothing’s right, hearts are torn,
For Liam, we mourn —
Knowing Payne means we got to know joy.
Fans in place, short shorts on, paps are booked
As a new round of H-SLOT’s afoot:
Harry Styles: Legs On Tour!
Very mindful, demure ...
Hontent’s flowing as HS4 cooks.
England lost, but it’s no time for tears.
It came Home when a photo appeared:
The backs of two heads
Who may share a bed,
But have not shared a room in eight years.
Three hundred and fifty-six days
Since last we saw Harry on stage,
But tonight a duet!
For Ms. Nicks’ Hyde Park set,
And a Songbird who’s now flown away.
Si’d like to strike 1D gold twice,
But your soul for his goal is the price.
This modern-day Midas
Is v-necked detritus —
“Kindly fuck off” is highly advised.
