Thanks, MCR
For the long treks through the darkness of my mind.
You’ve saved me from the loneliness of depression. The latest hours of the night, when the whole world is sleeping and the thoughts in my head scream at me. They tell me all the things that could go wrong, that already have. It’s not the harsh cold of today I fear, but the feeling - but in those hours, the knowledge - that it will go on forever, the greyness and the total certainty that in the end I won’t have made a dent.
When the deafening sound of the train, the overwhelming click-clack of keyboards in the office, and the white noise of the city are all gone at night and I’m left in the dim glow of a screen, the thoughts come creeping in. Quiet at first, a vague memory of a whisper in the back of my mind as I do something else, their voices grow until all I can see hear or think is a terrible choir of perpetual and absolute loss.
And then I put on my headphones and press play. I meet you, and I turn the knob just past where it hurts, and we battle them. We march together through the night, beating the sounds back three minutes at a time. When it’s over, nothing is left. You’ve faded and gone, my mind is in the silence of sleep and I’ve found a blank serenity.
It is only in the morning, when I wake up and get to my computer and its first sound assaults my ears that I remember. In my groggy haze, a peaceful smile comes to my face.
We are The Black Parade.
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