Take The Pain Out Of Love And Love Won't Exist
Do you even see me?
That day when he walked into Border’s, the lights seemed to dim a little darkness followed wherever he went. Except for when he smiled, that mega-watt smile could light a whole room, but today there was no smile. He walked straight over to Joe, his friend without giving me a second glance.
“They took our slot,” he said. His voice, low and urgent.
“Who?” Joe replied obviously understanding his friend’s coded words.
“That lame band, with the show before ours. We lost our perfect time. I practically got and my knees and begged for it, but it’s gone.”
“That’s horrible man! But that band is pretty good, I’m not surprised,” Joe replied smiling.
How he could smile, when the stare the faced him could melt a glacier? Joe always seemed to be a mediator, whenever there was a problem at the store he was always calm and collect.
“Are you kidding me? Their bassist can’t play for shit!”
“You can’t call every bassist shit, just because you think you are the best. Just chill, okay. We’ll get the slot again, with more practice time.”
“Yeah! You’re right. Man you’re always right.” And like night and day, he face turned into a blinding smile.
"Well, I have to go now. That Lisa girl is waiting for me.”
“The one you met last night?”
“Yup.”
“How does a short, greasy hair kid like you always get the hot ones”
“I have a charming personality.”
At this he walked away from the desk and strutted out the door. He had been coming into the store almost daily for the past two weeks, and whenever he came in, it was the best part of my day. The first time he walked up to the counter, he seemed arrogant, so sure of himself. Somewhere deep down though I think I was into him from the first day though, but I buried it beneath hate because I knew I could never have him. Me, Patrick Stump, who sits at home listening to blues music singing myself hoarse if I was home alone. Where, he Pete Wentz, the Casanova the legendary bassist with a million friends, I knew would never give me the time of day.
“They took our slot,” he said. His voice, low and urgent.
“Who?” Joe replied obviously understanding his friend’s coded words.
“That lame band, with the show before ours. We lost our perfect time. I practically got and my knees and begged for it, but it’s gone.”
“That’s horrible man! But that band is pretty good, I’m not surprised,” Joe replied smiling.
How he could smile, when the stare the faced him could melt a glacier? Joe always seemed to be a mediator, whenever there was a problem at the store he was always calm and collect.
“Are you kidding me? Their bassist can’t play for shit!”
“You can’t call every bassist shit, just because you think you are the best. Just chill, okay. We’ll get the slot again, with more practice time.”
“Yeah! You’re right. Man you’re always right.” And like night and day, he face turned into a blinding smile.
"Well, I have to go now. That Lisa girl is waiting for me.”
“The one you met last night?”
“Yup.”
“How does a short, greasy hair kid like you always get the hot ones”
“I have a charming personality.”
At this he walked away from the desk and strutted out the door. He had been coming into the store almost daily for the past two weeks, and whenever he came in, it was the best part of my day. The first time he walked up to the counter, he seemed arrogant, so sure of himself. Somewhere deep down though I think I was into him from the first day though, but I buried it beneath hate because I knew I could never have him. Me, Patrick Stump, who sits at home listening to blues music singing myself hoarse if I was home alone. Where, he Pete Wentz, the Casanova the legendary bassist with a million friends, I knew would never give me the time of day.
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