The line hits you fast—“You never wash up after yourself.”It’s small.But you know it isn’t.It’s about being the one left with everything—mess, silence, memory—and pretending you’re fine with it.
But you’re not.And this time, you say so.Even if no one’s listening.
The fact that it’s a B-side makes it better, somehow.
It wasn’t meant to be heard, but it slipped through the cracks and ended up in the right hands by accident.
I don’t know.Tonight, I feel like a B-side too.
Unreleased.Not part of the plan.Quiet enough to ignore until you realize it’s been playing on a loop in the background.
You got one like that?
Something you don’t usually admit means something?
StringTheory27:That track hit harder than I expected.
I knew about it, but I’ve always skipped it.Not because it’s bad—because it felt like reading someone’s journal without permission.
But here’s the one I never put on a mixtape:
“Asleep” —The Smiths
Everyone always goes for “There Is a Light ...”or “Please, Please, Please ...”but this one’s different.This one is not trying to be clever, which is rare for them.
Morrissey asking to sing him to sleep cuts deep.That line used to make me uncomfortable.Still does, maybe?
Because it says the thing you’re never supposed to admit—that some nights, you don’t want to be better.You just want out.Or rest.Or silence that doesn’t feel like punishment.
I never play it around other people.Not even with headphones on the bus.It feels too private.
You’re the first person I’ve told.
Don’t make me regret it.
So, you blew up your life, don’t do it again by going with someone who’ll just use you.It’s okay to be a B-track because, you know what?You’re the best.You weren’t created for commercial use or capitalism, but out of art and a broken heart that needed—the one that bled and became something different.
You weren’t made for Top 40 or for record label approval.
You were born from the static between stations, from a broken heart trying to find its sound.
And that sound?
That sound is fucking unforgettable.It’s probably the best version of yourself.
ChapterTwelve
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: StringTheory27
To: DeadStrings
Date: April 28th, 1997, 2:13 AM
Subject: Dreams
I can’t sleep.Yes, I know what you’re thinking: again?It happens a lot.I tried counting things.Those breathing exercises my best friend swears by, and I even challenged the ceiling to a staring contest—I lost.
