My hopes are so high

keep art alive :: art by Caia Koopman

Hands down this is the best day I can ever remember.
Always remember the sound of the stereo.
the dim of the soft lights,
the scent of your hair, that you twirled in your fingers,
and the time on the clock, when we realized “It’s so late!”
and this walk that we share together.
The streets were wet, and the gate was locked,
so I jumped it, and let you in.
And you stood at the door, with your hands on my waist.
and you kissed me like you meant it.

and I knew…that you meant it.”

This is the part of the story that always kills me. Thanks a lot music, for reminding me of it, again.

I hadn’t toward the story in a long while, not in that much depth. A few notes, a spill of lyrics that rush over me, and I found myself almost walking in the wrong door while I retold it, my hands shaking so much that I nearly spilled my coffee all over me. The question looms over me every time it surfaces – the never ending query of why did I run. It sounds so damn hollow, so pathetic, so fucked up to say because I felt so much, because I knew what it could be, because I knew that I would be devastated if I ever lost it. I hate to admit that I was that person, but I was. It could have killed me, the story still teases at that kind of heart breaking death.

So many stories we carry around with us, and so many lessons they still have to teach us. Time speeds by, turning memories into shadows, but some of them still sting.

Hands Down (live) :: Michael Stipe and Dashboard Confessional

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