Lying next to Eliza, I had the feeling I had I'd just found something I didn't even know I'd lost.

The music defied classification. If I had been writing a review of the show, I would have labeled it progressive, guitar-driven rock ’n’ roll. But the guitars made sounds guitars didn’t always make. Symphonic sounds. Sacred sounds. The music dug in so deep you didn’t hear it so much as feel it, reminding me of a dream I used to have when I was a kid, where I would be standing on a street corner, I would jump into the air, flap my arms, and soar up into the sky. That’s the only way I could describe the music. It was the sonic equivalent of flight.

Dreams can change histories and songs can alter destinies.

The phrase what I want struck me. It contains so much entitlement, so many complications, but encompasses only what a person doesn't have.

I hate that word, CAN’T. I wish it had never been dreamed up, spoken, or defined. I wish the concept of CAN’T could be eradicated not only from language, but more importantly from the psyche of a girl who I know is filled with so much CAN it seeps out of her pores and scents the air.

No one commits suicide because they want to die.

For the record, if I were Superman, a pale, scrawny guy holding a guitar would be Kryptonite.