A pleasant London night, your essay is coming along nice; I lie. It’s coming out okay; the window’s open making it a little chilly, you’re wrapped up in bed, a bag of chips and a side of dip by your side, and watching a show your friend once recommended when a character on said show starts to talk about how she wants to kill herself.
As the episode progresses, the character, described as a woman who has seen it all and done much more has decided now is the time to end her life before the cancer beats her to it. She discusses the drugs and gas and before you know it, your hands are clammy and your breath falls short; your vision is starting to blur and the room gets hotter. You stagger out of bed, focusing on getting to the bathroom but your body seems to be giving out and when you finally get to the bathroom and slap some cold water across your face, there’s only one question running circles in your head.
Last year on December 18th2017, a man I adored, left this world. Even as I type this, it still seems untrue and weird. He was beautiful, inside and out. He had that voice. One which was powerful yet soft. His music gave people comfort and joy. He spoke about emotions, feelings, strength, love and equality. He seemed too good to be true.
I’ve never met this man. Not physically at least. I’ve seen him through screens and heard him through radio shows. I’ve met him through his words and shared excitement through tweets.
We’re often told that celebrity crushes are stupid and for children. But this wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t romantic. It was is admiration and respect.
How can a man who lives and speaks in a language I cannot understand have such a strong hold over me? How can a man whose growth I’ve only witness through songs, interviews, radio shows and twitter have such an impact over my life?
Why is that no one ever talks about how when a celebrity dies, it does affect you? It affects you more than you like to admit. It affects you enough to cry in the shower looking at a candle that reminds you of him. It affects you enough to break down mid-way into a show.
It affects you enough to have panic attacks and horrid sleep cycles.
The funny part is I’m always thinking of the WHY.
Why am I crying over someone I haven’t met?
Why am I crying over someone I never personally knew?
Why am I sitting in my shower, 4AM on a Wednesday morning, crying my eyes out for someone with whom the only relationship I’ve only truly had is through a fucking screen?
It’s been 10 months and I still have no answer.
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
yousharknotpass
2087
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
