___ Was A Rockstar

*names have been changed and/or omitted.

___ was a rockstar. When I say was, I mean he used to be. Now, he was a mere mortal, a town drunk, an obnoxious neighbor, a terrible friend, a neglectful father, and an asshole. He was bloated, sick, and filthy, never outgrowing the poor hygiene of the grunge era that he helped to pioneer.

He was also brilliant, and wildly talented still, touched by some kind of inexplicable connection to a higher creative source. An architect of lyrical and musical magic, even in his current sad state, making it all that much more tragic.

He lived in shame, brimming with insecurity. His sense of self worth had come and gone along with his hits of the past. Somehow, I still saw him through the eyes of my teenage self. He was a conquest, of whom I wanted to claim victory. A loose thread in my story, that I just longed to pull. The timing seemed like it was finally right, with him being recently divorced, and me needing some kind of life raft (even if it was filled …