No Song Unheard
Maybe everyone feels that way sometimes.
Maybe he'll ask some time.
Do you ever look back at yourself? Like an old projector left in the garage, covered in dust and home to spiders, memories aren't so far away, and it's no work to get them running again. But there's no doubt that the guy on the flickering filmstrip of your flashing past just isn't you. He's a dick - there's no two ways about it. He's just some waster who's got no idea what he's been given. Look at him now, hands in his pockets, kicking that dented can down the street. What a fucking cliche, right? Maybe it isn't everyone, after all. Maybe it's just him. What a dick.
What he had back then. They say you'd give anything to get another five minutes with someone you love who's gone. He doesn't doubt that, but look at how they spent their time when they were together. Why, he'd give his right arm to have his family together again, but he'd probably mess it all up, like he did first time. No, he wasn't even a dick. That's too exalted a title. The boy he was back then isn't even worth insulting. He was just... a waste.
But those ears worked okay. And those fists worked okay, and turns out he did know how to stop hitting. And those eyes, which had forgotten how to cry. Turns out they worked okay too.
Everything he had now, he owed to one man.
It could have been a lot worse, right Grandfather?