You'll Never Ever Be My Girl.

A great songwriter said, "When we are loud, we are one." As I dashed through the forest, my naked toes snapping on the twisted purple roots of trees formed into shapes beyond comprehension, I heard such noise, that it did seem to become one sound. One mass. One thought. All I had was one thought. I can't explain it. I couldn't, of all the metaphors at my disposal, of every line of verse I've ever carelessly tossed into a hapless meaning, think of one example of it. All I had was what I knew to do, some instinct propelling me through the woods.

The moonlight was bright, and in the seconds between footfalls I would peer up. It was a night where the moon actually lit the earth, and one not so old as me might have been confused, because it didn't seem like night, but instead some inverse reality of the daytime. I traced yet again each branch, lifting and twisting and moving in seperate directions until they all joined somewhere near the heavens.

Still the sound called to me. Still I had to run.

The songwriter aforementioned added, "When we are one, we are more." This concept is lofty and idealistic of course, but understand that this was from the eyes of a man who spends his time in his own head, in his own reality, forced to come into the real world for the first time in ages. This was me, when I finally found all of them.

This was me in awe of them.

This was me now knowing who I was, and what I was here to do.

And this was me, most importantly, knowing YOU.

I know what you are here to do. All I have to do is wait for you to realize it.

All I have to do is wait for you to wake up.