i wanna tell you a story. ain't got no characters in it but me. i wanna sing you a sad song. most of it i don't expect you to believe. it starts off just the whiskey and wine, miles of travel and some real good times. but it ends in a dark corridor, and there ain't no windows and there ain't no doors.
[Has he ever felt this useless before? It's certainly possible — Brady and failure, perceived or otherwise, tended to go hand-in-hand ever since he was a small child too clumsy and inexperienced to properly draw the bow across the strings of his violin.
He opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs instead. Nothing he said could make this easier. He didn't have the words, almost never did. Just feelings, babbled out in an idiotic rush, or tears.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
He opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs instead. Nothing he said could make this easier. He didn't have the words, almost never did. Just feelings, babbled out in an idiotic rush, or tears.]