Darling I, I think about you. Darling, I do, and it’s blown me over once or twice
Darling I think about you when you’re not around, and it really gets my head going round. Darling I don’t know how to welcome you to this place. I say come get drunk with me when the night gets dark, running, let’s run out time – bleed out the clock and watch the stars laugh and cry as we lay beneath these lifelong lies – Ain’t you heard? What you see up there is no longer the truth! Long ago they have burned out for all we know. Look at me, yeah I think that even the silence is dying to speak. And if I would stop drinking it up, it might teach me how to talk about the important things – With clarity.
Imagine these possibilities! What if we could go back? Peruse the shelves of history; If you could pluck one book from the fires, which would be your favorite? Tell me of the tale you’ve got buried in your chest; I know silence isn’t the only one dying to hear it. Because the stories don’t die with their pages.
The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was get up from your bed knowing I had made the decision that I would would never lay in it again.
It hurt laying there trying to reconcile what hope I felt with the truth of what I’d known. I looked out the window like I had so many times only this time I wasn’t contemplating how to tell you the things I felt, but how I’d now remember only the cold realization of sleeping at the other end. My head pushed up against the bars, my leg falling off the edge, this was you pushing me out without saying it, without pulling the rug out from under me. How could I ever return after a night like this? Only a masochistic fool could do it. Of course you are not to blame – None of this was what you wanted – You needed space and I just showed up because I couldn’t let things go on like a mangled cat. As the sun rose on my final stay, I soaked a few tears into a sweater you lent me at the end of the bed. I thought maybe when you go to do laundry in some weeks or when you were looking for something clean to wear you’d give it a smell and the scent of me might repulse you. Maybe it would bring you somewhere warm one more time instead. I know how you get cold sometimes and you don’t mean it; The temperature simply changes so fast and out of control, but you still like to be warm enough. I hung onto the idea of staying. I smiled thinking you might embrace me when you woke up a little behind schedule and how you’d be happy I was there, but I guess that’s more of the fool in me. This was it. I had my choice to make and it wouldn’t change a thing. The choice of leaving now was mine and mine alone, every other moment would be owned by you. If I waited too long you might even see me go, or wake up as I was walking out and I’d say I’m going to the bathroom. You’d smile like you do with your hair all over and put your head back down. One last time I’d look at you asleep, imagine the memories in this space and I’d smile back. Instead of returning I’d really just creep down the stairs, take a look around to make sure I didn’t leave behind any part of me that might haunt you and go. Oh but the piano. It catches my eye and I remember the times you’ve played. Easy ones you’d tell me, and I’d wish you would play again. All again, and I think maybe if I go back up there now I can still sneak back into the bed and shrug off whatever sadness awaits in earnest hope that I might be able to convince you to play once more, not for me, but for your memory, so that the last key I think of isn’t that I should listen to beautiful women when they tell me they don’t want something serious.
That’s it. The first rays are coming in now to illuminate your mistakes. You’re still here to see them touch down on her face and hear how it’s too bright to sleep. Hold your breath, you don’t want the last memories to have anything to do with disturbing her.
You wake up and I decide I must go. I really can’t stay, but you grab for me and motion that I lay. Which I do because I know my emotions want one last time, what could one last time hurt? And it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt, because I imagine for a moment that I’m back at the start, and I’ve got your attention. And you’re asking me questions which I have answers to. And you light up when you see me, you want my kiss. And I want to give you 639 of them. I shake free of the daydream and return to the reality. You pull my arm around you, and like I’ve never had any control over my own body it goes as you request. I can’t help but feel empty, a soldier used up, and on the way out. I’m a fool for being here. I knew for a while this was the only reality, but I’m real bad at ignoring what I feel. I wasn’t really surprised, It was only ever a question of when.
Great people give us two things – Happiness & sadness.
I only ever gave one fuck,
And one fuck’s way too much,
Unless you’re talking bout us