Happy birthday, Kurt Cobain. You are truly someone special.
I don't want to pretend to myself that you would have liked me if we had met. I think that you were the kind of person who didn't really truly like a lot of people- and the people that you liked had a special quality. I don't know why I look up to you the way that I do. I suppose that this kind of hero-worship is dangerous, but there is something in your lyrics and your story that resonates somewhere inside of my brain.
I hope that you felt nirvana somehow, somewhere, and that your last moments were quick. I hope that Frances Bean Cobain is happy wherever she is, and I hope that Courtney isn't at least being a crazy bitch at the moment (bless her).
When I listen to Nirvana, I hear something between the hoarse lyrics and screaming guitar and Dave Grohl pounding the drums. Something that I've been wanting to say, but never knew how.
Happy birthday, Mr. Cobain. I broke out the flannel and Chucks just for you. I hope you're proud.