David Cook/Andy Skib
you watch him every day, changing, shifting into something unfamiliar.
you're along for the ride, clinging to the back of the last car on the roller coaster track while everyone below urges faster faster faster.
you watch him, burning brighter and brighter in the spotlight, praying that he can hold that spark.
at night, when the only sound the constant hum of rubber sliding over pavement, the almost inaudible twang of country music filtering from the bus driver's lonely sanctuary,
when you can curl into his bunk without anyone knowing - those are the moments when you think you can survive this.
when there's only you and him, his body turning into the curve of you on instinct, hands and skin and the lullaby of his heart beating steady and slow - you know that this is worth everything.
in the morning the routine will startsover, eyes everywhere, flashbulbs and spotlights and the rumbling beat of day to day existence, hurry hurry hurry up and go nowhere.
thousands screaming his name, trying to carve him into something that they want, something that they need. but they can never have the still of night, that's when he comes back to you.
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