“Tell Mr. Man with impossible plans,
to just leave me alone.
In the place where I make no mistakes,
i the place where I have what it takes.
I’m never gonna know you now,
but I’m gonna love you anyhow.“
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. The rhythm of the waltz, the predictable movement; you expect it, you see it coming, and you keep going – whether you mean to, or not. Something keeps pulling your legs this way, your feet that way, and your arms embrace the form in front of you – but he has turned translucent, disappearing into thin air, becoming something faded, and imaginary.
The images fade, just as the memories begin to; or maybe I just tell myself they are leaving because I cannot take the sting of those moments being nothing now, except for remembrance.
I woke this morning heavy with melancholy. The sunlight through the blinds causing me to squint before I have even open my eyes fully. Somehow I have turned toward the window in my sleep, something I usually do not do, I note to no one in particular.
Was I dreaming of those moments from not so long ago? Interlocking fingers, conversations whispered in a room where so little light streamed in. We were both a little lost in the dark, or, I guess, we hid there – not that I ever wanted to be hidden.
Now I am left with nothing to hold but consoling words, and the same damn explanations. All I have left are my memories. Whatever and ever, right? You never meant me any harm. So, why does it still hurt so much? I think I would rather just let it all fade to grey, to cloudy skies, to a place where I feel good, again.
“I’m so glad that my memory’s remote,
‘cos I’m doing just fine,
hour to hour,
note to note.”
Waltz #2 (live) :: Elliott Smith