I like you.
There, I said it.
I know you don’t like the way I like you but we’re sort of friends. Except that you hate my taste in music. And, frankly, I hate most of yours.
You will never understand how I can like Marilyn Manson, Eminem and 30 Seconds to Mars. You will never understand why I can listen to the whole soundtrack of Step Up and know most of the songs by heart.
You will never understand why I can do all of this and still hope that you like me. As a friend.
The truth is, you’re one of several decent guys I know. But you’re the only one to talk to me about something that isn’t gossip. From that point of view, I totally respect you.
But why you have to hate my music, I will never understand. I’m pretty sure that, right about now, I should be on anti-depressants. I feel like my life sucks but I know it doesn’t. Hell, in comparison with most people, my life rocks.
But it doesn’t Metal. And that’s where our differences lie.
And, frankly, I love my music. A day without music for me is like thick fog: bearable but only just. So, for the love of all things I consider holy, can you PLEASE STOP TELLING MY THAT MY MUSIC IS SHIT.