Comtesse
Starved Of Mirth
I feel this deep pang every time I look at that beautiful, expressive, dignified 48-year old Morrissey. I've "known" him since I was a very young teenager. I'm a good bit younger than Morrissey, but not by that much. I look at that face with the lines creeping in and the gray taking over, and I see the same lines sneaking on to my face and the same gray infiltrating my head. I'm right behind him, and if he's... god, stopping, stopping being young and doing what he does... it means I have to stop soon too. I'm not a teenager anymore, he's not in his twenties anymore. Neither am I. We're both, way, way past that.
I don't know what else to say. I really don't.
You took the words right out of my heart. He's been there beside me, comforting me, giving me something to live for since I was 17 years old. I'm nearly 41 - that's a very long time. I can't imagine the world without him. I feel like such a wretch for taking him for granted the last few years. I have been such a fool... I'm glad I've come to my senses in time to see a couple more shows.