My Symphony: Secrets by One Republic
What if I told you all of my secrets? All of it – the quirky ones, the funny ones, the disturbing ones, the fatal ones. What if I were standing right in front of you, completely naked – the darker parts of me showing?
What if I placed a toy soldier on the palm of your hand and told you it’s what I had always masturbated to? And what if I was sick – really sick? A dozen fucking holes in my brain. Lonely. Depressed. Suicidal. Just waiting for a goddamned stray bullet to pin my mad soul down.
What if I never really were smart, or cute, or funny, or attractive? What if all of that was merely a huge, huge pail of lies – masks that were there to cover up something crooked and ugly? What if I really was three foot three inches short? Blind, deaf, mute. Untalented. Unambitious. Untouched.
What if my real goal in life was to fuck everything over simply because I had this anger in my heart – this sort of solitude dressed as hatred that always fooled people? What if I had coffee with you one day and confessed that I never really honestly cared about school, career, and stuff like ethnic diversity, or “Stand Up To Bullying”, “Save the Whale”, et cetera? What if I never really were a people person? What if the real me – the really unadulterated version of me – was as simple as a male animal who refused any responsibility and just wanted to sit somewhere nostalgic and be sad and happy at the same time for the remainder of his aimless, pathetic, purposeless life?
What if I still pissed in my bed at twenty? What if I actually found rat’s blood sexually enticing? And what if I had AIDS simply due to being such a relentless man-whore?
What if I’d cheated, lied and stolen, and had moments where I was convinced none of it was a big deal? What if some days I just randomly gave a homeless guy two hundred bucks as long as I could have at least thirty-seven minutes of an absolutely real and meaningful conversation with him over a bottle of whiskey?
What if I was so sick of being in this so-called rat race? And what if I never really thought of being a part of it on the first place? What if I didn’t believe in money, or success, or all those other silly stuff?
What if at the end of the day, I really was just one of those fuck-ups who are in the brink of nothingness?
Would anybody still want me, love me, care for me, cheer for me? Would you still see me as the same son, the same brother, the same friend, the same lover, the same human being, that you saw before I took all of my fucking clothes off?
Would you still genuinely smile back at me and have a walk with me?