I lost my mind, when I met you. All I wanted was to scream, and say "Is she really your sister?"
Your brother played the drums and we wanted to make a band. I played the guitar. He liked Nirvana as much as I did, even though he didn't understand the lyrics 'cause he didn't speak english. We loved so much garage punk.
We started playing Aneurysm, and I yelled terribly. I was ashamed. Then we played Sliver and Sappy, and I just tried to whisper the lyrics. It was our first rehearsal. Despite my voice, the songs didn't sound bad at all. We even didn't have a name. The bass guitarist suggested "Chaos In Highschool", or something like that. He was your boyfriend, or I thought so. Maybe your brother told me so, to keep me away from you. Nevertheless, you looked at him all the time. I was kinda jealous.
You were there, listening. Just you. Sometimes our gazes crossed thru the room. Maybe you laughed. I kinda wanted to tell you how much I liked you, for the very first moment I saw you. You were beautiful and your hair was painted in purple and pink sparkles. You dressed like a Babes In Toyland member.
"Are you really left-handed?", you asked me in a brief pause. Your boyfriend had gone to the bathroom. As we were drinking alcohol from the beginning of the rehearsal, at that point I was kinda drunk.
"Oh, yes... I am really left-handed... Do you know that Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix, were straight-handed? Do you know that Billy Corgan is left-handed even though he plays a straight-handed guitar?", I told you, desperately.
I had an awful left-handed Ibañez guitar. It was pale blue.
Your boyfriend came back, and we started to play Heart-shaped Box. He decided to sing, and he was amazing. You stared at him, with devotion.
I never returned to practise. I was afraid of getting in the middle of a fight for you, because it was obvious that I would fell in love with you, sooner or later. Also, I was a bad guitarist and I never could compete with your boyfriend.
I was an idiot.
Heart-shaped Box
