It's Hard to Imagine, but One Day...
Wake Up Soon.
Do you ever see that one face that stands out to you in a crowd? You’re just walking down the street, through the walls of a mall or you happen to be at a show—on stage or in the crowds and there’s that one face that brings so many thoughts to mind.
Why do they look so familiar? Why do they look like me? Do I know them? Is it someone I actually know? Is it just a figment of my imagination?
I’m lucky my fingers know exactly which chords to play because this is the thirteenth time I’ve seen that face. It’s like looking in a twisted mirror, it’s the face of a girl, her make-up gives her away—but her eyes, her eyes are mine.
The smile that graces her lips—lips that look so much like my own—is contagious and I can’t help but to smile each time I see it. The crowd surrounding her screams louder as she lets them swallow her whole.
I’ve never been attracted to that face, not like that—it’s more curiosity than anything. It’s her nose that throws me, her lips and eyes are mine but her nose is someone else’s. I know that nose—it belongs to someone I haven’t talked to in years. Someone I let slip through my fingers to pursue this dream I’m living day in and day out.
I gaze out at the many faces I can see, the sea of people staring back at me, my band mates—it’s an overwhelming sensation knowing you’re part of something that saves lives. I search out that face as our encore comes to an end; spotting a quick glimpse of a profile I rush to our body guard and ask him to follow her, get to her if he can.
I rush off stage as the screams still echo in my ears, quickly removing my guitar, for once not caring if it lands properly in the hands of our crew. Making my way to the lounge I begin pacing back and forth—my mind going on overload.
Minutes pass and I hear the door open and there she stands—the girl that has my eyes, my lips; a shy smile in place. I quickly ask if she enjoyed the show, submerging the both of us into awkward conversation. Soon enough the guys enter, not taking in the details that this girl and I seem to share—more fans enter the room as well.
I get lost in the small sea of faces that I momentarily forget the one that I wanted to look at closer—figure out why she had my lips, my eyes, that nose I’d know from anywhere. She was gone; I couldn’t find her anywhere. I glanced around the room, she wasn’t with one of the brothers, nor our other guitarist or our drummer—she was gone.
My thoughts consume me as I sign countless autographs, smile for a number of photos; the usual nightly routine after a show. I hear the faint call of a woman’s voice; she’s looking for her daughters, calling them out into the hall. I smile as they scamper over to her, excitement evident on their youthful faces.
I remember back to the girl I let slip through my fingers; we had talked of kids once—she let that thought go the moment I told her of my plans with this band. We all knew we were going to make it, or at least take it as far as we could—we would never sell out though.
She knew we would do well, she told me a kid would just tie me down and cause me to lose my focus—that conversation plays over in my mind sometimes. Like now, just witnessing a parent with their children at one of our shows; my kid would know what it’s like to travel the world, to live on a bus with a lot of other people—how lonely I wouldn’t be if they were with me.
Instead I live day in and day out with four of my best friends, the screams for my name, my looks, and my talent— surrounded by so many people and yet I feel so alone. That face, the first time I saw it, I felt connected to her—I wasn’t alone. The face of the owner of the nose came to mind—thoughts of her and what she meant to me flowed like a rapid river just about to crash over the edge of a waterfall.
Then it hits me, like a ton of bricks, I had just met my daughter for the first time in her entire life--and mine.
Why do they look so familiar? Why do they look like me? Do I know them? Is it someone I actually know? Is it just a figment of my imagination?
I’m lucky my fingers know exactly which chords to play because this is the thirteenth time I’ve seen that face. It’s like looking in a twisted mirror, it’s the face of a girl, her make-up gives her away—but her eyes, her eyes are mine.
The smile that graces her lips—lips that look so much like my own—is contagious and I can’t help but to smile each time I see it. The crowd surrounding her screams louder as she lets them swallow her whole.
I’ve never been attracted to that face, not like that—it’s more curiosity than anything. It’s her nose that throws me, her lips and eyes are mine but her nose is someone else’s. I know that nose—it belongs to someone I haven’t talked to in years. Someone I let slip through my fingers to pursue this dream I’m living day in and day out.
I gaze out at the many faces I can see, the sea of people staring back at me, my band mates—it’s an overwhelming sensation knowing you’re part of something that saves lives. I search out that face as our encore comes to an end; spotting a quick glimpse of a profile I rush to our body guard and ask him to follow her, get to her if he can.
I rush off stage as the screams still echo in my ears, quickly removing my guitar, for once not caring if it lands properly in the hands of our crew. Making my way to the lounge I begin pacing back and forth—my mind going on overload.
Minutes pass and I hear the door open and there she stands—the girl that has my eyes, my lips; a shy smile in place. I quickly ask if she enjoyed the show, submerging the both of us into awkward conversation. Soon enough the guys enter, not taking in the details that this girl and I seem to share—more fans enter the room as well.
I get lost in the small sea of faces that I momentarily forget the one that I wanted to look at closer—figure out why she had my lips, my eyes, that nose I’d know from anywhere. She was gone; I couldn’t find her anywhere. I glanced around the room, she wasn’t with one of the brothers, nor our other guitarist or our drummer—she was gone.
My thoughts consume me as I sign countless autographs, smile for a number of photos; the usual nightly routine after a show. I hear the faint call of a woman’s voice; she’s looking for her daughters, calling them out into the hall. I smile as they scamper over to her, excitement evident on their youthful faces.
I remember back to the girl I let slip through my fingers; we had talked of kids once—she let that thought go the moment I told her of my plans with this band. We all knew we were going to make it, or at least take it as far as we could—we would never sell out though.
She knew we would do well, she told me a kid would just tie me down and cause me to lose my focus—that conversation plays over in my mind sometimes. Like now, just witnessing a parent with their children at one of our shows; my kid would know what it’s like to travel the world, to live on a bus with a lot of other people—how lonely I wouldn’t be if they were with me.
Instead I live day in and day out with four of my best friends, the screams for my name, my looks, and my talent— surrounded by so many people and yet I feel so alone. That face, the first time I saw it, I felt connected to her—I wasn’t alone. The face of the owner of the nose came to mind—thoughts of her and what she meant to me flowed like a rapid river just about to crash over the edge of a waterfall.
Then it hits me, like a ton of bricks, I had just met my daughter for the first time in her entire life--and mine.