Sometimes, some playful angel goes up to the gigantic white ball of infinite understanding, and scrapes off a little bit and puts it in a baggy like a taste of cocaine. One of them came down to me when I was trying to fall asleep last night and put it above my lip.

And for a split-second, I completely understood why the music matters so much to you. I see how it made everything okay again, and how it picked up your broken heart and tied it back together. I see how the whole scene made things okay for a little bit, and I saw how being a punk was therapeutic. I see how the black and pink fix things.

But then it was gone again, and the angel left snickering.