Broadway is dark tonight

I don't want to go down in history as that-girl-who-could-have-saved-that-person-from-their-own-internal-hell-and-chose-not-to. I don't want to see Gulianna hover near Terri anymore, just waiting for a sliver of attention. I don't want to be wondering in five years how Gulianna's doing. I want to be the person who in the here and now offered friendship where there was none.

[flashes of memory, i see the blue blue sky and i think that's the sun
i think maybe i might love him]

Because at some point in life I think everybody feels like an outsider. Been there, done that, in some ways I still feel like an outsider. I don't know if I'm the only person in my school to feel acutely every tear that Gulianna cries because her only friend has ditched her to hang out with us, the "populars." Oh gosh I don't want her to be alone.

I'm sick of standing by and doing nothing and thinking it'll fix itself. Doing nothing is as bad as doing the wrong thing sometimes. I threw a stone at a hawk today because it tried to kill one of Lenny's lambs. I didn't hit it but I saved the lamb.

[city lights begin to solidify from a messy blur
cars zoom past on the motorway
halfway from nowhere to anyplace]

I hate it when people shrug and refuse to help someone out and say "that's the way the cookie crumbles" or "that's just how it is." If people keep thinking like that then of course that's going to happen. But I'm tired of letting them tell me that I'm too young to understand and that there's nothing I can do. I can save the world - one person at a time.

I'm tired of people telling me that until I experience it I won't understand. Don't they understand I can't experience things unless they let me? A bird can't fly if you clip its wings and a horse can't run on a lame leg. A person can't learn without experience.

[music is too loud
volume's on 76
i can't hear my own voice
i guess i don't have any voice control]

I'm starting to care less and less about what people think of me. If it's not God's opinion why should it matter to me? Another year and I'm out of this town, out of this tiny little gossip highway. Everyone here knows everything about everyone or at least they think they do. The truth is repeated so many times it becomes lies.

So what if someone's new haircut looks terrible! The attitude some people have is terrible too but unfortunately there is no attitude-dye like there is hair-dye. If only. I don't even know if half the people I talk to are real, or whether they're buried so deep within themselves it's like there's another entirely separate person there, trapped.

[i hear a piano ballad in my head
see drops of water floating through the air
laughter bubbles up from all around me
this is happiness]

I know a few real people though. Riz, Enyar, Niknak. Those people are real to me. Everyone else, I don't know. I can see a cling-wrap layer of fake but it's not clear-cut. There are wrinkles so thick it's hard to look past the warped exterior and see the smooth, shiny new inside. Almost like a peanut in its shell.

I wonder how many years of their lives people waste trying to be something they're not?

[he's a shy kid with floppy dark hair
he's a thousand leagues away from the jocks
from the nerds
he's got this thousand-watt smile
he's a social outcast
he smells like summer and thunderstorms
a warm beach towel in the sand
i think that's why i love him]

-a solitary blue.