The summer of 1986, and I'd already been through so much. Thinking of the fear I'd had so long. I remember thinking that I'd had plenty of experience with feelings and that I wasn't going to let myself feel anything again. Listen to the fear that's gone. I had just turned 18. Strangled by the wishes of pater, hoping for the arms of mater. I'd started college broken-hearted and for that first year tried to not talk to anybody unless it was related to school. Get to me the sooner or later. I dressed in oversized shirts and jeans and shaved my head down to a soft fuzz that was, I believed, the only thing soft about me. I'll keep holding on. I worked in a movie theater and spent most of my free time in a dark room watching a flickering screen, and I lived on popcorn. Chance for me to escape from all I'd known. He opened the door to the ticket booth and sang "Pure Imagination" and I fell. Cause nothing here has grown. That was the summer we drove and drove everywhere. I wasted all my tears, wasted all those years. We drove to UC Berkeley and spent hours reading all the graffiti in the hallway of the observatory before we finally got to the roof to count the stars and I still thought I could keep it all in my head. And nothing had the chance to be good. One late night he stayed in my room, we slept curled like kittens, gentle and innocent, and in the morning I kissed him for the first time. I'll keep holding on, so tight. When the radio alarm went off it was playing this song, and I every time I hear it I remember how it felt, how sweet it was to open my heart again. That's all I have to say.