Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad?

Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad?

Fuck, I'm tired.

I've been doing better with extremes in weather in the past couple years, but the last few days have SUCKED. It's TOO FUCKING HOT. I feel like Lewis Black, wanting to go to the Weather Channel offices and kick some ass.

So we played outside, with no covering, the sun one fucking foot from our heads.

Our first set was SHIT. None of us were on, there was no groove, no balls, just a big blob of flaccid POO.

But it got better. And I'm glad Layla ran video of it, because the last hour or so was pretty fucking good. It was when I finally felt loose. I think the beer helped...

I'm very happy for the guys. They tried out a female guitarist last week. Apparantly she was there tonight, but I didn't see her. I was off talking to a few people after we were done and didn't see her trying out M's guitar. He came up to me: "They don't need me anymore. They need HER."

I can't wait to hear her. I'm very, very pleased that they get to go on. Who knows, it might even get better for them.

I'm glad my mom and sister came late and got to see the end. They usually see our first set, which is usually about the same. So they heard some different tunes, and damn good versions for the most part.

I was so fucking tired (which is why I'm still here, there's no WAY I could make the three hour trip back to home tonight) that my normal hormone-crazed reaction to being within a LIGHT-YEAR of Layla was just not possible. My weiner was saying "Fuck you, it's too hot. I couldn't get it up now if my life depended on it."

But I still noticed. She had on shorts and a tight shirt. I noticed that thin waist flowering out into those hips, the incredible legs that NEED TO ENVELOPE MY SKULL. Those brain-destroying eyes.

I couldn't feel it as strongly as normal, I was too far gone...

We had drugs and we had booze
But we still had something to lose
And by dawn I wanted
To marry you.
- Neil Young, "Too Far Gone"

She brings out so much in me. Very, very good things. And really awful things. It's not awful to love such a beautiful creature, to want to please her and be pleased by her. It's not awful to want to fall into those eyes and drown a beautiful, perfect death. It's just fucking awful that she has to be HIS and I'm feeling these things.

And I'm really going to miss him. He played some great shit tonight, and I'm lucky to know him and be in this band with him.

Dammit.

I was detached for most of the night. Even though she looked amazing. So REAL. She was sweating like the rest of us. She had a bandana on her head that made her somehow even cuter. While we were loading up afterwards, she laid across the hood of their truck.

"You a model now?"

"They took most of my senior pictures with me on my Dad's truck. You should see them."

"Yes, I most certainly should."

I told her goodbye, and she came to me. Oh God...I'm going to TOUCH her...brain spinning...arms dying to hold her close...every atom in me bracing to feel her warmth if only for those few seconds of pure goddamn fuckin' bliss...

She hugged me. I leaned in, smelled her hair. And snapped inside.

"Dear God, you are so fucking beautiful."

"Thank you."

And that was it. I had to go hug HIM just to feel clean somehow.

Listening now to Camel's The Snow Goose, some of the most amazing melodies to come out of the '70s. But another song is in my head, and it's filtering through to my heart, which is finally starting to feel the depth of what happened tonight.

Why does love got to be so sad?

Like a moth to a flame,
Like a song without a name,
I've never been the same since I met you.
- Eric Clapton

It's the truth. I haven't been the same. This has been building up in me since I first met her over a year ago. I remember that night very well, the way she talked to me, how happy she was to meet me after hearing the old tapes of the band. How much she loved my playing. ("You are fucking AWESOME." - an outrageous thing to hear about yorself coming from such a woman.) How happy M was that I was there that night because he'd missed me so much. Even that first night, I had to tell her how lucky I knew he was to have her. Because it DRIPPED from her.

And I can't - and won't - do a damn thing about it. But I can't see her, can't talk to her, can't fully experience both how beautiful she is and how fucking COOL she is without wanting to cry. Because I can't have her. And at this moment, this crazed fucking moment when I'm suddenly AWAKE, for fuck's sake, after this long-ass day...I want her more than I want anything. Just to lay beside her and die inside those incredible blue eyes, feel the glorious touch of her skin, feel her hair on my face, and lean into her, and tell her at last...

I love you, Layla. Goddammit, I really do LOVE you.

And now I turn the other way and try to forget, until I have to see her the next time.

Love,
Dougie