“What’s your favourite album?”, she asked. “In Utero”, I replied, surprising her with the answer.

I started listening to Nirvana when I was 17. Soft verses and loud choruses— I got a kick out of it. I don’t miss that time of my life where I drowned myself in substances, surrounded by opportunists.

I listened to Nirvana to let go. I listened to Nirvana to lose myself and find myself again. I listened to Nirvana to rage. And rage, I did. On myself.

She brought Nirvana back to me, the way I loved it. I could see the happiness on her gentle face, when I yelled “someone play Lithium”, not knowing she was the DJ.

We talked about Kurt and Nirvana while washing dishes, I loved how she couldn’t stop talking about it. I wanted to hear it all, knowing damn well she can go for hours.

I was minding my business sitting near the window in the bus, she had to come sit by me.
I happened to be shuffling through Nevermind.
We had a small chat, but I could see her face In Bloom.

When we talked about my favourite album, she was caught off guard I said In Utero. I tried to play Dumb— thinking to myself— Do I look like a Smells like teen spirit guy to her? I had the opportunity to argue with her then, like we always argued about everything, but I pulled back, thinking it was a bad idea to Milk it.

She’s not here. We talk everyday, I try to act normal. But nothing is okay. I feel barriers, I feel there’s something in the way. I want her all by myself. And I want her now. I want to live in her heart-shaped box, so that she makes the pennyroyal tea for me and I get to dip my favourite marigold biscuits in it.

So, one more time I scream the loud chorus that I enjoyed in my teens— COME, AS YOU ARE. As Kurt maybe smiles at me from above, saying “You got a good one there.”