The first few chords of the song. I wince unconsciously as the now familiar sick feeling works its way into my stomach. When I wrote the song I thought it would help me put everything in perspective. I thought it would stop the pain and the anger and it did at the time. But it's sort of like talking about it to someone, getting out all the emotion, and then being forced to have that same conversation over and over. And believe me, it doesn't get any easier.

I sat down one afternoon and wrote everything that came to me. I filled the entire page with my cramped, childish writing. It wasn't until the next morning that I sat down and sorted it all out so that it made some kind of sense to anyone but me.

The intro finishes and I start to sing the words that I regret and hate. I want to stop playing it, but no one else agrees. After all it's our hit; the one song I wrote that is true. The one song I knew exactly what I was talking about.

It makes me remember all the things I want to forget. All the feelings come back just as they were at the time for those three and a half minutes.

I remember how I would sit in his lap at the library while he read books on politics and environmental devastation out loud. He always ended the book with, they lived happily ever after even if it was obvious we wouldn't.

I remember snorting his whole prescription of prozac. We took turns, using each other's skin as a surface and the hundred dollar bill I had got for my birthday. Afterwards we drank vodka because the buzz wasn't quite good enough.

I remember meeting him for the first time in line at a fair. I was holding my stomach and wondering if I would be sick if I went on again. Of course I would have, no matter my decision just to check if I was right. He was standing in front of me and when he turned around and offered me a bite of his cotton candy I forgot all about everything except him and the grainy sugar in my mouth.

I remember drinking, smoking, screaming, and proclaiming an end to all cliches especially true love. At the time I meant it, but now I know I should have added, except ours. Then at least I would feel as though it was all his fault, instead of this indecision of how much exactly each of us is to blame.

I remember his smile whenever I did something unbelievably malicious. The way he would sneer just before he did the same. I wish I had told him to stop sometimes. Maybe if we had been kinder and less cynical then things would have turned out better.

I remember wishing I could draw so I could get all the moments down on paper so I would always know every single detail.

I remember his deceptively solemn expression that hid his amusement so well when I told my parents I was gay and he wasn't just my newest friend. He loved how disappointed they were and took pleasure from the drama I thought would never end. He said it was because he missed out on it when he came out.

I remember sitting on the hopscotch at the elementary school, making flowers from tissue paper we had stolen from the kindergarten class.

I remember his eyes were blood shot and he kept drinking coffee, not even putting the cup down between each gulp. He had told me he hadn't slept in three days. He leaned in and I thought he was going to kiss me, instead he said he was bored. He said there was some one else he wanted to fuck. I couldn't respond. My throat felt as though he had his hands around it, squeezing. What did you think this was, he asked with a short laugh, true love? Our very own happily ever after? I should have answered yes. I should have said, I love you, let's go break streetlights and make this all ok. But I didn't. I stared at the spilled sugar on the table and tried my best to pretend I was as apathetic as he was. Neither of us was fooled.

The last note of the song dies out and I feel my heart break. My eyes are burning and it takes all of my determination to stay still and smile at the clapping crowd. I want to tell them all to stop. This song somehow only deserves silence.

The drums for the next song start up and I begin to forget. The hurt goes away until next time. And then it all starts again.