It speaks of dreams and heartaches :: SOTD

getty_rf_photo_of_woman_driving_at_night

And in the corner stands a guitar,
and lonesome words scrawled in a drunken hand.
I don’t travel past,
travel hard before,
and I’m beginning to understand
.”

The rain still poured down in the city they say never rains, my breathing still hitched from the weather, an unwelcome curse that the conditions I love the most make me ill. But I persist, as I always do, pushing on the gas and reaching for the music to play. Perhaps I should have ignored what you sent, but music is a weakness you know only too well.

I was there when you started to write it, your oldest guitar in hand, but I never heard it finished until just now. It is after the second lyrical line that the tears start to fall. Did you think I wouldn’t hear it? Did you think I wouldn’t know? The lyric lifted from that one conversation, the one that neither of us will be forgetting easily, or soon.

It is what it is, I mean, I know the way artists work. We steal and we take and we make every moment into poetic refrain. But maybe this one comes too soon. Or perhaps that was your intention. Yet another cord to tug that you know still connects to my softest insides. You know I can’t drive far enough to escape the way I feel about you. The road just boomerangs back to the streets we have traveled on together.

And no, of course this isn’t the song, but some things are just mine to hold. Like our memories. Like that conversation you took as your own. Like the song you sent to me.

Don’t you know I would change this course if I could? Don’t you know I don’t need these kind of reminders?

200 More Miles (live) :: Ryan Adams & Cowboy Junkies