Twenty-eight

I spent most of today listening to a shuffling of my Nirvana playlist and thinking, of course, of Kurt. Thinking of him is intrinsically linked to me at age fifteen through seventeen. I loved the entire grunge scene in high school - the music, the clothes, and the artists. I never had a crush on Kurt, it was more that I just liked him as a person. I liked him from the interviews I saw of him and of how he carried himself. He was calm and soft spoken and wrote poetic lyrics. Lyrics that somehow made me feel less alone, less of a freak and a loser. I also really admired Kurt for not being afraid to say that he was a feminist and that he supported the gay community. Not many men in the 90s were confident enough to speak up for women's rights and gay rights. Being a sad, ugly teenager who never fit in and was always made fun of, it was an escape to daydream of knowing him for real, of finally feeling cool and popular because I had Kurt Cobain as friend. Since 1994 I've always had a magazine centerfold of him hanging by my bed. It's really hard to believe that it's been so many years since he passed away. Now I daydream of what might have been if he hadn't been sick. If he were still alive. What would he have gone on to do? What would he be creating? Where would he have taken us, musically? I miss all the words that he never wrote and all the songs he never sang.