i have been wallowing in a mess of pages scattered all over with unfinished scribbles and blotted inks all over them, some with folded corners or have been torn off from an old notebook with time-stained pages and faithful, steady grade-school lines.
I have so much I want to say but cannot find the words to say them right. I know what I see and how I feel but everything else is just a random blur.
Everybody else is thinking what I feel, feeling what I think. She just stole my line. He knows exactly what I mean. What is this? I stare at them and they lose all magnificence and suddenly, they're all just the same regurgitated attempts at defining the intangible.
Tina had me spot on and Adele profoundly sees through me. Elton took the words right out of my mouth and Eric, well, he is such a tease. Dancing around my emotions like he do and yes, he mouths them like as if he's reading them from my pain. Dan strums the heart-strings I am too much of a mute to breathe and Lisa, oh, Lisa! If I could be a fraction as good as her at saying what I feel, then perhaps I'll die with a smile on my face. Norah, she sings these odes my soul has been choking to say.
I move from one play list to another gasping at each song, thinking, "Oh, I know! I know, I know, I know, right?"
On certain nights, I'd tell Frank, "I'll sing you that song." And on another one, I'd tell him again that. And on some songs, I could swear Elton had me in mind when he wrote Your Song.
I feel like the flood of emotions that are drowning me are bits and pieces of songs that everybody from one time or another have claimed to be theirs.
So unoriginal yet, so damn real.
She can't tell me that all of the love songs have been written,
'cause she's never been in love with you before.
Your skin smells lovely like sandalwood.
Your hair falls soft like animals.
I'm tryin' to keep cool, but everyone likes you.
I want to kiss the back of your neck,
The top of your spine where your hair hits,
And gnaw on your fingertips and fall asleep,
I'll talk you to sleep.
But I'll be the one, I will have chosen.
I'm tryin' to keep cool, but everyone here likes you
I'm not the only one.
Your skin smells lovely like sandalwood.
Your hair falls soft like animals,
And nothing else matters to me.
She can't tell me that all of the love songs have been written,
'cause she's never been in love with you before,
In love with you before.
Your hand,
So hot,
Burns a hole in
My hand.
I wanted to show you.
