Night changes.

Two days ago, Liam Payne, formerly of One Direction fame, known to my friends and family as the one guy who sort of looked like Harry but wasn't Harry and had his face plastered all over my bedroom walls, fell from a third floor hotel balcony and died. 

As Halsey says, "I loved One Direction with an all-consuming force when I was younger." Much like a significant portion of late millennial AFAB kids, I don't know that I ever loved a boyband with that specific brand of naive, silly, unfettered passion that I did at 14, and I don't think I ever will again. "I know people change," Halsey writes, "and grief is unsure or complicated when it’s attached to a fond memory or the feeling a person gave you and not tangibly the person themself." I didn't follow the news too closely, but still, I am aware that Liam made some very shitty decisions and did some very shitty things. It sucks. It sucks to grieve what someone stood for - a part of myself I lived through and won't ever get back - and to condemn the choices they made, while also recognizing that the person we all remember still did exist - the boy who was talented, kind, and full of love - the boy who was failed by a system that doomed him the moment he set foot in it. 

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