Even After Everything (After #1) (COMPLETED)

00: Marco

I need to smoke.

The white pack in my hand feels lithe, as if I'm touching the dark clouds above, and I can feel the disappointed roaring down through me. I threw the pack in the hallway and continued my walk until I reached the elevator.

My neck is hurting. So is my head. That's why I pressed the rooftop button and waited until...

The wind blew so hard in my face as soon as I stepped out from the inside. Deserted, the area I'm in is illuminated with lights from the billboard few years away from the door I'm currently standing at. I gallivant my eyes first, to check if I'm sure I'm alone, and went to the other wing, where set of broken chairs are leaning on the railings, where the dark clouds are the only one who can see them there—broken, useless, and laying around silently.

I took a deep breath before leaning on the railings and see for myself the view from here. Breathtaking. But my head hurts again.

Several lights from nearby buildings are illuminating this city and countless cars are driving on the road, fifteen floors from here, and going somewhere they're meant to arrive too.

I could've gone home. But the pain flickering in my head tells me to stay here for a while. Since this is the place I want to stay for a while, I'll just enjoy the silence, after the loudness of what happened inside one of the rooms I've checked in.

I don't know what I was thinking about. Was that... a symptom of having so many thoughts you could figure out which one to remember? Or which one is worthy to remember after thinking so hard?

My life... Where it led me... Those people below me would do everything to have a taste of everything I've gone through, and I wouldn't blame them... I was just like them, too.

I was eager to know how it feels to perform in front of thousands and thousands of people until... fame completely took over my mind and it's just...

Nothing.

Yeah, that's what's running in my head: Nothing. Simula pa lang... pakiramdam ko wala akong masasandalan na memory ng isang bagay. How could I cherish that memory when...

Oh, no... I laughed. I shook my head for thinking I didn't work for all those times people rave about our music and line up just to see us. Just to have a picture of us. Or just to hear me sing live.

At least, for once, I learned how to work for that and earn a result afterwards. I don't tell them this but... if I could sleep in our studio just to finish my parts in our every song? They'd be more mesmerized about me.

People used to tell me I have a great voice. I think so... I think they're right.

I liked singing for them. I liked seeing them shout the lyrics back while I sing those very romantically and meticulously... Because at least, I knew I worked hard for it. I deserve to have a response, a feedback, a support...

Because of all the things that have had happened in my life, it just kind of... given away. And I never enjoyed them for it. I didn't learn to love it, therefore I ended up not loving it.

But with singing? Oh, God... If I could do it all my life, to fill this big void inside my heart, and hope it would heal the wounds of my past and how I grew up? I would. I would sing my whole life.

Until I lose my voice. Until I cannot write anymore. Until I cannot play my keyboard or my guitar...

But nowadays? It's been... It's been a year since we've stopped doing it... It's been a year of torture.

A tear escaped my eye. I harshly wiped it off and stare at the stars scattered above me. If I shout here, would they hear me? Would somebody hear me? About the things I've grown up into?