This is my reaction, or review, or letter. To Owl City. On here.
Dear Adam,
I don't understand. I cannot begin to fathom why it bleeds with rich abundance, why it hurts so much. I can't look for clues. I can't unveil the definite, the rational answer to my imploration, to my emotional dilemma—why I feel so strangely alone. I am left lonely and forlorn and I don't understand why because there are many, so many people, and yet my body controls me and isolates me in my frigid and murky mind. And even as I had waited out to meet you—to ACTUALLY meet you—I was smothered with the worst of thoughts and the greatest of absurd and stupid dilemmas that didn't seem so much like that in the eye of a bystander. I did not deserve to see you and I was not destined to hear you but I had been ushered in, and all I became was a blubbering mess. Twice a camera clicked as I helplessly stained my cheeks with more tears. You reduced me to noisy mewls and whimpers I besought to silence. You were the reason why, too. Because. BECAUSE, for long you had been my savior. And I thank GOD for you.
I am stuck in the noise and the hallucinations and the temptations, and you give me hope, and blinding lights... and tears I easily taste on my lips. I couldn't see you well through my hands and my tears but you were there, and you were of enormous height and you were glowing with brilliant effervescence. I heard people gasp and my sobs worsened. I do not know why I am like this when everyone else is not. You had rained on me and nurtured me. Your music has done this to me. You grew me into something else again; I can feel it as light as a feather but also as heavy as the world. I can feel you. And GOD; if that is Him. My feet ached SO MUCH and I begged them not to, but I felt the necessity to jump for you and for everyone, along with the crowd, alongside the beautiful sound.
Yes, I had dreamt with eyes open that you were effervescent. You were glowing with the atmosphere of an angel, and it feels too surreal and I cry because I feel silly and rude and I somewhat hugged you or you somewhat hugged me.
You wore blue and white stripes. You wore—oh—a handsome face that even brought my mother gasping. You wore the orange, the purple, the red, the white, the blue, the green lights. You wore wings. You wore faith. You wore the air we gulped down. You quenched me with ecstasy. AND I still haven't resolved how you could pull apart the glued pieces of a haywire heart and stitch them back together with elite but humble words and glimpses, doing it all over again in that exact series of brusque but tiresome events.
For many moments I let my head hang and my eyes click shut, just for a moment, so I could bask in the moment while you, Breanne, Daniel, Steve, and Jasper gave me dreams and disasters. I have more and more to write, to you, but I've been silenced with awe and worry I still need to get rid of. Thank you. Singing and dancing in sync with you from the middle of the audience was love, war, and pure insanity. I'll try not to forget.
It leads to this. God bless you, Mr. Adam Young.
With gratitude and admiration,
Amber
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