“I’m not ready to die. But I’m too tired to live.”
“My life’s a fucking tightrope walking on a hangover…” he growled, his voice cracking. “I am not a man. I’m a machine that turns euphoria into shame.”
“I put the bottle down. I looked in the mirror. And I saw a kid who just wanted to feel something other than nothing.”
Ryan leaned back. He didn’t say “That’s a take.” He just smiled—a small, rare, tired smile.
Tears streamed down his face. He wasn’t acting. The memory was a physical weight. He remembered the taste of metal in his mouth after a relapse, the look in his father’s eyes—not anger, just exhaustion. He remembered the moment he realized the drugs hadn’t filled the hole; they had dug it.
Ryan hit play. The beat swelled—a slow, atmospheric crawl of piano and a distant, echoing choir. Then, Ben’s voice came in, not rapping, but confessing.
“Too much?” Ben asked.
Finally, Ben looked at the floor, at the same worn spot where he’d learned to dribble a ball as a kid. “My dad used to tell me,” he said quietly, “that you don’t have to fix the whole plane. You just have to keep the wing from falling off.”
“I’m not ready to die. But I’m too tired to live.”
“My life’s a fucking tightrope walking on a hangover…” he growled, his voice cracking. “I am not a man. I’m a machine that turns euphoria into shame.”
“I put the bottle down. I looked in the mirror. And I saw a kid who just wanted to feel something other than nothing.” macklemore & ryan lewis wing
Ryan leaned back. He didn’t say “That’s a take.” He just smiled—a small, rare, tired smile.
Tears streamed down his face. He wasn’t acting. The memory was a physical weight. He remembered the taste of metal in his mouth after a relapse, the look in his father’s eyes—not anger, just exhaustion. He remembered the moment he realized the drugs hadn’t filled the hole; they had dug it. “I’m not ready to die
Ryan hit play. The beat swelled—a slow, atmospheric crawl of piano and a distant, echoing choir. Then, Ben’s voice came in, not rapping, but confessing.
“Too much?” Ben asked.
Finally, Ben looked at the floor, at the same worn spot where he’d learned to dribble a ball as a kid. “My dad used to tell me,” he said quietly, “that you don’t have to fix the whole plane. You just have to keep the wing from falling off.”
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