Fine line (Larry Stylinson)

Prolougue

I'm doing fucking fantastic.

No, I mean it. Fucking fantastic. Absolutely, positively fan-fucking-tastic.

Two best selling albums in two years, two world tours, a major motion picture and the most supportive and understanding fan base in the world?

I mean, what more could I ask for, right?

That's what I tell myself every night before I go to bed. Every night as I lay, thinking not only of my accomplishments but also my hardships and achievements.

I have it all. The fame, the glory, the confidence. I came out of something huge, and I built myself up higher than I'd ever imagined. I grew the courage to become honest and loyal, both to myself and those who support me. I grew into my own skin, made light of all that I've suffered and used it to push myself harder, will myself further.

I've gotten everything I've ever wanted. I transformed myself into the man I truly believe I was always meant to be.

I grew the copy rage to write about what I want, who I want, and how I feel.

After all these years I finally have the freedom I do desperately craved.

So why does there feel like there's something missing?

Something..or perhaps someone.