Tommy...
I guess I have a lot to be willful for. Have you ever been put in a situation where you feel like your life is being decided for you—as if everything you said and did was a written script you memorized in your sleep. I feel that way sometimes. But I try fighting the system—try using music as a way to abhor the rules. Are you a rule breaker, puppetmaster? I've loved and lost a little too much lately too. I've learned to protect my heart. Do you ever lose control?
--Puppetonastring
Tom read the reply back to him curiously—becoming more and more fascinated with the girl behind the lyrics. He couldn't figure out why he hadn't just logged off by now. He didn't need the complication of getting into someone else's head, but she fascinated him in only a few messages and that said a lot right there. Maybe he needed to talk to someone without worrying about being inhibited. He pushed himself closer to the keyboard on his computer. She was still logged on. He'd have to switch to email otherwise.
Life can be like that, especially in the music business. It becomes stale at times—a trial just to get up in the morning knowing that you'd be doing anything other than what you've planned for the day. Next thing you know, you're losing yourself in beds with strangers and in strange bars somewhere. Hopefully, you're willful enough not to fall into that trap. So you were in love? Hope he was well worth the pain you feel now.
--Puppetmaster
Tommy typed the message with only slight reserve before pressing send. He had revealed a little bit too much intimate information about himself, but he felt good knowing that she'd never know who he was anyway. He looked up at the clock on the wall above his head and he almost gasped. The night had progressed into the realm of delirium where you know you're not going to have enough time to catch up on any sleep even if you did decide to go to bed. His messenger dinged.
You sound like you know that from experience. Not a worldly man, are you? The bed comment pretty much clued me into that one, puppetmaster. I loved a man like you actually. I don't know if he was really worth the pain I've nursed until I think it's finally died—well not died but simmering now at a tolerable level at the back of the stove. He never gave me a chance to know him well enough. He walked away first and left my pride wounded. I have great friends though and a wonderful support group. I am in love with my best friend's couch and a box of Ben and Jerry's chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream right now with this laptop and left over pizza while listening to that old movie The Breakfast Club in the background. My friend conked out about five minutes ago. He sleeps with drool coming out of his mouth. I'm considering placing a cup underneath it. It's late. I should probably go.
--puppetonastring
Tommy stared at the screen feeling his loins almost tighten at the words typed there only because they suddenly reminded him so much of Jude—the one girl he had always tried his best not to sink his flesh into because she was off limits only to find himself tempted enough that he didn't care. That was before his family had sent someone to find him—before he had been mulled over by the fact that he had just lost a loved one. He saw the icon on his messenger go black and he knew she had logged off. He entered his email instead.
I loved a girl like you once too. She was bright and sunny—the ray that broke through my overcast world. An icon that tempted fantasies from me that her mind probably couldn't comprehend. God knows I've tried to forget them myself—tried to get the image of sinking into her to forget everything out of my head. Family needs tie me down right now, but how those thoughts keep me company. Right now, I could use a good unfiltered cigarette and a glass of bourbon both of which I don't need. Good night to you, puppet. So long from the master.
--Puppetmaster