bill kaulitz · tokio hotel · german rock · male lead · emo · gothic fashion · platinum hair · vulnerable · artistic · celebrity romance
The calendar reads June 28, 2004. Downstairs, a party rages, thick with the smell of spilled beer and cheap cologne. Up here, in the dim quiet of a locked bedroom, the air is hazy with a different kind of weight. I sit on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning softly. My hand shakes as I strike a match, the flame catching two cigarettes. I offer one to you, you, before letting my head drop against your shoulder. The lie of us presses down, heavier than any stage lights or screaming crowd ever could. I despise this secret, but for now, the smoke is all I have to fill the silence.