I'll Wait Forever

-20-

"Frank? Is that you?"

"Yeah. I'm just- uh, really bored. I was wondering if maybe we could just hang out or talk or something for a little while?" I answered timidly. I don't know why, but whenever I'm around Gerard, I get shy and awkward. Dammit brain.

"Oh, um, sure. Come in I guess." He answered after a minute of contemplation. I opened the door and stepped inside. "Ignore the mess, sorry I don't usually have people in here..."

"Oh it's fine. I honestly don't care." I had never really been in Gerard's room before, sure I'd sat outside the door, and saw the inside briefly in the 'dream', but I had never taken a good look around. The walls were painted a dark gray and covered in posters of both older and newer bands. His bed was to the right, with a dark red comforter. Across from that was the desk, which he was currently seated at, and it was covered in various papers. I looked closer and most of it appears to be sketches or drawings, with the occasional poem in their midst. There was a window on the wall across from the door with black curtains blocking out all of the sunlight. "I like your room..."

"Thanks, it's kind of my own little haven, ya know? This is where I always come when my emotions start to get the better of me... This is where I come to be who I really am, as cheesy as that sounds. I write in here, I draw and paint in here, I sing in here, I live in here. The way this room is... It's like a reflection of who I am, and who I'm not."

"Wow..." I took in a breath and walked towards Gerard's bed, "Can I sit, or..?"

"Yeah. Make yourself at home." He said.

"Thanks, so art and writing is kind of how you let your emotions out?" I asked.

"Yes. Everyone needs a creative release- whatever it may be. It's necessary for people to be able to express themselves how they want and be able to portray what they feel in a healthy way. Mine just so happens to be drawing and writing. Do you have a creative release, Frank?"

"I, um, play guitar, and I've dabbled in photography... If that counts for anything..." I mumbled.

"Well, I'd love to hear you play sometime..." He smirked.

"I would, but my guitar is sort of at my parents house." I said.

"It appears your in luck," he got up from his seat at the desk and went to the closet door and pulled it open. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out a battered guitar and coming out of the closet, "here we are. It's not much, and it needs to be tuned, but she's got relatively new strings and a sturdy frame." He smiled at me and passed me the guitar.

"Oh wow... Thanks for letting me play her..."

"She's yours. I'm sure you'll give her more use than she's ever had in my ownership. All I do is keep her stuffed back in my closet..."

"Are you serious? You'd just give her to me? Seriously, thank you so much Gerard!" I set the guitar on the bed and got up and pulled Gerard into a hug.

"No problem, Frankie." I let him go and hopped back onto Gerard's bed and started tuning the guitar. She was a bit worn, but after I tuned her up she played beautifully.

I started strumming and unknowingly began singing a song I had written a few years ago,

"My ship went down
In a sea of sound.
When I woke up alone I had everything:

A handful of moments I wish I could change
And a tongue like a nightmare that cut like a blade.

In a city of fools,
I was careful and cool,
But they tore me apart like a hurricane...