The rest of us. Once, I'd have been yours for the asking, yours when you were nobody, yours when we were both nobodies, just starting out, eager and young and ready to show the world what we could do. Back in the days of 15-hour shoots and late-night football matches and stolen kisses in secluded car parks and empty trailers. Back when it was just us, the Fellowship, the Brotherhood, bound by endless days of the rain and the cold, of pulled muscles and aching feet. Back when we'd been grateful for a spot of tea after a hard day, laughing at jokes that made no sense, delirious with lack of sleep and love for each other. Once I'd have given you the world, my soul yours for a smile or a laugh. Back when we had nothing, you were everything. But oh, you got it, didn't you, got a taste for the life, a taste of adulation and fame. Became the breakout star, Orlando Bloom, pin-up boy, instead of Orlando Bloom, actor. Fans swarmed, girls swooned, money and offers poured in and suddenly you were a commodity. No longer a person, but a property to be bought and sold. A star. When did we become inadequate, when did friendship, love, reality, become too much? When did the tattoo become just a meaningless bit of ink to be covered by your designer suits? When did the closeness we'd once shared and believed in with every breath become just another sound byte on the way to your bigger and better things? I remember when I could talk to you about anything, conversations too nonsensical to be real, long rambling discussions that lasted all night. I remember your sincerity and enthusiasm, the way you'd chew your lips when you were thinking, the way you were always a little off, a little awkward, but we loved you more for forging ahead. What happened to that boy, what happened to the openness, the honesty? When did you trade your crazy sense of fun for a perfectly knotted tie? When did they leech the color from your soul? Did the fans take it with their insatiable greed for more, did the press take it with their lust to crawl inside and slice you open, did time, that most wretched of creatures, steal what was most precious and replace it with a smiling, soulless duplicate? You still think you can fool me with your bright eyes and brighter smile, but you can't really fool the ones who love you, the ones who see you more clearly than all of the adulators ever could. I see what you've become and I weep because I let it happen. We all let it happen. We all sat back and watched a rare and beautiful butterfly transform into a washed-out, carbon-copy of a moth, without color or light or that sense of wonder that permeated your entire being. We destroyed the most beautiful thing about you and, what was worse, we did it out of love. We all loved you too much. And now no one has you, least of all yourself. But when you're ready, when the trappings and the roars and the legend becomes too much, remember. Look down at that tattoo, trace the lettering, and remember. Remember that I'm here, we're all here. No questions asked, open hearts, and open arms. Remember that underneath it all, we're brothers. Something that no amount of fame can take away.
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