Page 137 of Paint the Town, Dove

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And that’s why it burned – it fucking burned.

I would’ve given anything to sit down with her, despite the anger, and hold her hand. Tell her,I get you, ma. I don’t want to forgive you, but I get you.

I hated her. I loved her. I missed her.

I needed something to quell the anger.

But Scarlett, my Dove – she got it all wrong.

She wasn’t a distraction to me, never. She was the end goal. She was the passion burning in my veins, the reason for this – foreverything.

I never used her, I couldn’t if I tried. I gave too much of a fuck. She was the only woman in my life I ever had room for.

Her and, well…

I sighed, forcing away the urge to turn back and look at ScarlettEmory-Blake, seated alone, feeling probably worse than I felt.

She wore her defenses on her chest like a badge, I let them show – that’s who the fuck I was, that’s how I created music.

She wasn’t an artist, but she sure was the damn muse.

I wish I wasn’t such a burden in her life.

Sometimes, I wish she let me go.

Maybe she’d be happy. Maybe I was just some moment of weakness when she first met me. She was suffering, she needed an outlet –

Why could she use me but I couldn’t use her?

Isn’t that what we’ve done our whole lives?

Use each other as stepping stones to the next big break? To escape everything and everyone? To soar, to fly –

We wereeach other’s wings.

Mom used to be–

NO, FUCK, NO.

I had to move.I have to move on. I have to move on.

She’s a broken home. A broken past. A broken woman.

A broken Ryden.

Maybe that’s why my music resonated with people.

Maybe I built my empire off the agony of life.

Did I want that? Is that what I was created for? My legacy?

I’ve met fans, so many goddamn fans across the world who’ve been raised by the pits. Loveless, parentless, abuses galore, discarded –

Discarded.

Discarded.

Huh.

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