Dear friends,
I'm writing to express my sadness about the death of someone very dear to me. By saying this you may think she and I were really close; I dare to think so because her songs had the magical power of reaching me wherever and however I was. Another 27-year-old, too fast and too furious, too talented to be in this world surrounded by ordinary people who insist on being even more ordinary just to be on track, to live according to plan. Daring is no longer a choice, difference is no longer a plus - people talk, people complain, people judge and we... we fight one way or another to escape from criticism and find ourselves some goddamned peace. What's it like to entertain a crowd with no booze in your hand? With nothing teasing your mind? I find it as difficult as it can be: so far so boring. Not easy at all, and then I wonder: even more difficult when deep inside all you ask is for everything else to stop while you gaze at the clouds.
I've never had idols, I've never worshiped anyone. I don't think I ever will. The thing is that today the sky was grey and the wind was strong and the air was heavy and my thoughts were all wrong and I didn't know why. I think I do now. I swear I thought she was gonna live more. I swear I wanted her to keep singing and dancing for a bit longer, against all odds, no matter how selfish that might have been. It was nobody else's choice, and nobody else's pain. London will never be the same without the possibility of seeing her pass by; I may not be the same again.
I still can't believe you're gone, Amy. Somehow I can tell how much I'll miss you... My day is blue, my heart is dazed and confused... Forever you will be MY sweet overdosed hero. May your crazy soul and your worn-out ballerina shoes rest in peace.
I'm writing to express my sadness about the death of someone very dear to me. By saying this you may think she and I were really close; I dare to think so because her songs had the magical power of reaching me wherever and however I was. Another 27-year-old, too fast and too furious, too talented to be in this world surrounded by ordinary people who insist on being even more ordinary just to be on track, to live according to plan. Daring is no longer a choice, difference is no longer a plus - people talk, people complain, people judge and we... we fight one way or another to escape from criticism and find ourselves some goddamned peace. What's it like to entertain a crowd with no booze in your hand? With nothing teasing your mind? I find it as difficult as it can be: so far so boring. Not easy at all, and then I wonder: even more difficult when deep inside all you ask is for everything else to stop while you gaze at the clouds.
I've never had idols, I've never worshiped anyone. I don't think I ever will. The thing is that today the sky was grey and the wind was strong and the air was heavy and my thoughts were all wrong and I didn't know why. I think I do now. I swear I thought she was gonna live more. I swear I wanted her to keep singing and dancing for a bit longer, against all odds, no matter how selfish that might have been. It was nobody else's choice, and nobody else's pain. London will never be the same without the possibility of seeing her pass by; I may not be the same again.
I still can't believe you're gone, Amy. Somehow I can tell how much I'll miss you... My day is blue, my heart is dazed and confused... Forever you will be MY sweet overdosed hero. May your crazy soul and your worn-out ballerina shoes rest in peace.
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