No Plagiarism!GYOp1cHl9KDRh0Iw8YMtposted on PＥNAＮＡ My first love. He sparked a fire that no one could tame. We were inseparable, unstoppable. But only for a short time. As the leaves changed color, I began to wonder if the next summer would be as heavenly. He was at the mercy of my family. We talked day and night. We connected through music. On one lonely night, when I was on the verge of drowning in a gray void of emotionless detachment, he told me to listen to music. He told me to look up Hands Like Houses. I became addicted, I craved each song like a drug. They were my anchor when hollowness threatened to carry me away. For months we continued on, that perfect boy and I. Until we couldn't continue. He was too much older, and my family took notice. It seemed like all at once the sky came crashing down. And when the time came, I sobbed, thanking him for getting me through everything. And we said goodbye. Laying in a puddle of my misery, I shut out the world. The only voice I heard was Trenton Woodley's. Release played on repeat. Each word was a jagged knife in my chest, holding so much painful beauty. I hugged each note tightly, trying to dull the agony. The longing. The lost will to live. The song was there when nobody else was. And even today, after a year has passed, that song brings me to tears. I'm uncertain what it is. Maybe it's the memories that are attached to it. Maybe it's the sorrow in his voice. Whatever it is, it has broken me down. It has revived me. It is my release. 

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