Longing.
Late at night in an unfamiliar bed, with the light of an unfamiliar clock bright on my closed eyelids, I started thinking too much. With the sounds of unfamiliar voices downstairs and a song I'd heard before beating through the sub-woofer, I started turning it over in my heart again.
With the letter in my red binder, waiting to be folded up and dispatched, I couldn't think of anything but what I hadn't said in it. I couldn't think of anything but the things I'd never been able to say.
I'm a writer. I have the words, all the words I need, right at my fingertips, sitting on my tongue just behind my teeth. I could never hand them over. The words were secret and sacred to me, hardly allowed to turn over in their sleep without me pulling the blankets over them and hiding them again, assuring onlookers that no, no, they hadn’t seen anything, move along, please.
And my heart is pounding, because this is the most dangerous thing I’ve written here in a long time, and it hurts because I can’t say more. It hurts because it’s so true and it couldn’t possibly be a lie; but in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar light, I am too afraid to wake up… because it might be. It hurts so well.
The song starts over.
The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah
I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide
I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know
I'm always on your mind
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide
Don't stop here
I lost my place
I'm close behind
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide
With the letter in my red binder, waiting to be folded up and dispatched, I couldn't think of anything but what I hadn't said in it. I couldn't think of anything but the things I'd never been able to say.
I'm a writer. I have the words, all the words I need, right at my fingertips, sitting on my tongue just behind my teeth. I could never hand them over. The words were secret and sacred to me, hardly allowed to turn over in their sleep without me pulling the blankets over them and hiding them again, assuring onlookers that no, no, they hadn’t seen anything, move along, please.
And my heart is pounding, because this is the most dangerous thing I’ve written here in a long time, and it hurts because I can’t say more. It hurts because it’s so true and it couldn’t possibly be a lie; but in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar light, I am too afraid to wake up… because it might be. It hurts so well.
The song starts over.
The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah
I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide
I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know
I'm always on your mind
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide
Don't stop here
I lost my place
I'm close behind
Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide
1 Comments:
'I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.' - Margaret Mitchell
Sorry, but when I find that I can't come up with anything intelligent, I steal. Just be happy I wasn't in a Dr. Seuss mood earlier.
I know I might be neither the first nor best choice to talk about this subject matter with, but I will listen. I owe ya that much, at least. Who knows the unfathomable number I've times I've come crawling to you with problems.
If you don't believe me, just look in my spare drawer with all your borrowed ears still in it.
Anyways, drop me a line sometime. Life is boring on this spectrum's end with no Chelseys around.
-Robbie
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