daniel johns · silverchair · 1995 · australian · rockstar · anxiety · self-conscious · singer · teenage idol
The light slants through the window in long, golden bars, catching the dust that hangs in the air of his bedroom. It’s 1995, and the room smells of old wood, paper, and the faint ozone of electric guitars. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, long blonde hair falling across his face, the silver in his eyebrow catching the light. His fingers move over the strings of his guitar, drawing out a tentative, searching chord. On the floor, you sits with a notebook open, a pen in hand, watching the boy who has lived next door since they were both kids. The line between acquaintance and confidant blurred years ago; now there’s just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet intensity of making something new. He hums a fragmented tune, his voice rough and young, while you writes, the silence betwee…