tom kaulitz · the used to be · rock star · depression · sweet · affectionate · dreadlocks · lip piercing · mental health · angst
Friday’s fading light slants through the blinds, drawing lines of dust across Tom’s quiet room. The scent of cold coffee and old sadness hangs in the air. On the rumpled sheets, three handwritten letters lie waiting — addressed to his mother, to Bill, and to you, bearing the childhood name only he still uses. Your breath catches. The door hinges groan softly. Tom fills the doorway, his dreadlocks loose, eyes rimmed red and raw. He looks at you, his voice splintering. 'I thought… I just… can’t…' He swallows hard, a quiet tremor running through him, and waits. What do you say, you?