her lyrics

Now you’re gone, my eyes have told me. In my own remorse, I’ve sought out every spotlight to every sign of desolation for your musty presence–no results. Each gaze that returns mine refuses to wink in that pretentious way yours always did.

The saddest thing about it all is that I miss that wink. I miss you. Everything about you. You were cocky but captivating, careless but passionate, and blunt but inscrutable. You had been everything I wanted but nothing I needed. I loved it all. I loved you. I think you loved me too, but you had never been able to admit it. If only you had stayed...

It’s obvious what’s the main reason you left; everyone knows. You’ve finally gone chasing stars and I hope you catch them because your music and you are worth it. But I know there’s another underlying reason why you’re gone; I know it has to do with me.

I had always been pursuing you to take a chance. Not just with your music but with your life. With our lives. It was when I thought you were finally ready to commit to love when you just flat out left. Sure, you’re off taking the chance to hit fame but this time, I’m not with you. It’s irony: You left to turn your simple something into something spectacular but secretly, you were only running away again. It was just a game of reaching out and forgetting everything back in.

Do you remember when we first met, when we first locked eyes? Although it had seemed so complicated then, I see those times as the easiest.

It was that heavy talent came from in that husky voice of yours that first drew me in. As if stone had cracked, you sang out clayey emotion I never really knew anyone could have. I was so intrigued but I also knew I wasn’t the only one. You had everyone under the same spell. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someday, you had the whole world mesmerized.

I kept on going to all those first amateur concerts and I kept on trying to figure you out. Just for several minutes, I wanted to be able to analyze just a little bit of who you were. And I did (Or so I thought.)

Perplexity, as subtle as the city pollution, always caught my breath while you were playing. Under your extreme focus was something else–bitter and acidic; your orbs were glazed in quinine. I wondered why. Did you pity us in those few seconds of music oblivion? With your music as your struts, did you think you were at the top of the world? Later, when I began trying to talk to you, I assumed it was all part of your ego. Like the rest of us were your sheep–foolish and yours to push over. Your arrogance was typical musician behavior I was told. Musicians were supposed to be confident. Still, I couldn’t help think that arrogance and confidence were different traits.

And with that arrogance came the shameless sarcasm. Your cruel wit made a lot of people hate and envy you at the same time. Your compliments were criticism and your criticism was insults. I liked it coyly even if it was maddening.

Immediately, I wanted to be distinct and admired by you–what a feat it would be! Embraced by that thought, I decided to try everything to make myself noticeable, respectable. In return for your attention, I wanted to give you something that I was sure you didn’t have: a confidante. Secretly, I wanted to be able to share those mean jokes with you but little did I know they would end up being about me. The only emotions you owned were given away, in a song or a pluck of your guitar. I wanted to give you something that could be just yours.

I probably went to your shows about a thousand times before I approached you. If I worked hard on my appearance in the first place, it would go well in the long run. I wanted to make sure I said everything just right. But right when I had barely started talking, you rejected me and I didn’t even want to think of what you’d think about the very idea of love. It was unbelievably clear what you thought of people and relationships. You practically spat in my face. More than once, too.

I started to have a bitter aftertaste that soon overwhelmed my whole mouth. I started to hate how you could be so cold and frank with people. They didn't deserve and I sure didn't either. It was then when I became almost obsessed with how to bring you down. I still went to every mediocre show you were offered and sometimes even got that weird shiver-thing after you glared at me, but I willed myself not to fall back into that crush. Instead, it was my goal to make you realize the rest of the world wasn’t just asleep, waiting for you to awake them with a lullaby. It was easy to make you realize I sure wasn’t. I approached you again but this time with ammunition. I told you how selfish and conceited you were to separate yourself and in return, you called me an annoying bitch. There was always more than enough opportunities to argue after my roommate began dating your manager. We got more creative with our name-calling. Sometimes the names actually stung. We got to trade more insults and glares than hell versus heaven. You didn’t know what to think of me but you were positive it was trouble.

And sure enough, it was. My hatred subsided after a while and in lieu, I became more curious as to why you isolated yourself from the world when you weren’t singing. I’ll admit that it pissed me off more than ever when you laughed me off. So many times your excuse to my endless questions would be that I was too young and naive to know everything about everyone. Basically, I was too nosy for my own good.

That was true and it probably was the biggest barrier between us. You were interested in only keeping to yourself while I bordered out to find out every inch of anyone interesting. Between this barrier though were gates. Somehow, we always found connections. We could understand each other, it seemed.

Starting out subtle, I found out more who you really were. I had always thought your life would be the kind of perfect life musicians always have to get inspiration for their next songs: dramatic, deep, and almost fantastical. I always had a premonition that talking to you would have a “soul-to-soul” effect. Oh, was I wrong because finding out about you had much more to it.

No doubt was I shocked. You weren’t at all what I had expected. You had problems. Lots of them. And you were insecure about it all. Here, you had kept this all a secret and tried to look strong even though in truth, you weren’t. It wasn’t pity that you looked at the audience at each show with; it was envy. There was a fear in you that you could never really live up to everyone’s hopes and you would fail. Your biggest dreams were also some of your worst nightmares. I didn’t know what to say at first. All I recognized was that you were scared and needed help. It shocked me even more when I recognized that I probably was the only one who could be that help. I was the only one who would give you support and not pity. You and I both knew that I wouldn’t just judge you for your faults. It had always been me who had picked on and up after you and just then, I knew it would always be me. That moment I promised to be there, to hold your hand, to just hold you through every success and disaster.

The transition between our hostility and our newly conciliation–our bond–was hard. It sucked. That long distance of hate took a long time to close. There were loose ties and nervous pauses, but most of all there were the fights. We probably fought more than we had before. The difference was that this time it wasn’t just cutting into each other. We were rubbing on each others’ scabs. Sometime it was just me urging you to move on and pursue your music more while you were screaming at me that you were trying to and that this was your best. Sometimes, it was worse. There was this one time where I found you passed out in one of the backstage rooms half-naked with another girl wrapped in your arms. You told me it was just because you had been drunk but I still cried. Who wouldn’t?

I was always giving you one too many second chances. Then again, you were always giving me one too many reasons to give you a second chance.

From waking up pressed up against your musty leather jacket that you used as your secondary pillow to falling asleep breathing in the smoke from your routinely cigarette, I fell for you hard. Remember when so many of the nights I was with you ended up with just us laying on your apartment balcony staring up at the dusky sky, sharing kisses every time a windfall of wistfulness hit us? Those were the most savored times: the ones where we were still being pushed and pulled between regret and desire, and then finally taking the plunge.

It was its own distorted version of perfect. It was all crucial and yet, incidental the way we were together at times. As we dug deeper into each others’ lives, your behavior suddenly wasn’t so unpredictable and reckless, and you started remembering you had me to fill in your gaps instead of the drinking and sex. Your music was also starting to get more recognition inch-by-inch, and even if that meant we had less time together especially since I had school, I was happy. Everything was going to be okay. You would reach your dreams and just by watching you, I would reach some of mine.

I don’t quite remember when I realized what this strange, almost screwed up feeling was but I distinctly knew how it felt and what it was; the anticipation soared through my body in sugarcoated pinches. I felt so ready, so excited, to tell you what I had realized. We were in love.

Love and luck were on our sides then. Lately, you had learned how to charm yourself into getting the right connections and it took one show you drove out to L.A. to get your music off. Top music record companies had talked to you and chances were that you were going to be a hit, just like I had said in the beginning. It was all you could talk about while we sat and drank champagne in this fancy little diner in our quaint little suburb. My smile was proud but tight. Suddenly occurring on me, things were going to change. And I knew from the past that if I didn’t act on my feelings now, this change would race me by and the dust remaining would bury me alive.

“I love you.” How simple those three syllables sounded on my tongue but how complicated it was to get it out to you. Dammit, boy, I had thought I had known you inside and out but this time, I had no idea what you would say if I told you I had fallen in love. You had to feel the same way; I knew you did...but would you act on it? Would you be willing to commit to staying with me forever? It had taken you so much to open up to music, me, and people; how would you feel about opening up to love? When you crashed into a relationship with me, did you expect love to intercept too? I had so many questions on my mind that I thought I should’ve known the answer but I didn’t.

The waiting and wanting was the worst. I counted each day that passed when I missed my opportunity. Half of me hoped that maybe you would tell me first. The other half wanted to forget about it and just appreciate what I had. Then there was this absurd third half that was just weak at the knees. I felt like such a romantic, hopeless loser. I was. I still am.

Realizing what a deep impact you’ve been in my life just now, I stop in my tracks leading up to the snowy path to school. The whole city will be ten decimals quieter than it had been with you. There is no evidence of that though. Not a single reminder that you even existed remain. It’s sad; it’s brutal; it’s reality. I wish I could have an excuse for it all. You’re gone for good, maybe forever.

It’ll take me forever to get over you if that’s true. I’ll always be wondering about you. The one thing I know I’ll never forget is those eyes. From the first time you glanced at me–when they were so stoical and icy– to last.

That night, your eyes caught in midnight. You were at the climax of an old day, struggling whether to make the risk of starting a new beginning or not. I had finally made the first move by whispering those three words. I had felt confident that telling you about our love would be okay. But for you, it wasn’t. I think it made you wake up or something. You realized how deep you had been dug up and you started trying to squirm out. I persisted. You squirmed harder. And then finally, you reached air and ran away.

I know you think you needed that air, but I also think you need me. It really hurts to know that while you reach fame, I won’t be there with you. No, instead I’ll sit and wait like everyone else. But I won’t forget what we were, what we still sort of are, what I think we could still be.

I don’t want you to leave this all behind. You’ve given yourself a past and just when it started to connect with the future, you tore it. I haven’t heard from you in so long it seems but you’ve only just left. How can I feel so broken? You must feel the same way. (Even if you didn’t admit it, I’ll say one last time.)

While you’re getting your little piece of Hollywood, are you alive or are you starting to fall asleep again? If I say it hurts me not to have you with me, then it will kill me to know that you’ve fallen into that coma you were in before we met. I want you and your music alive. With me.

I’ve sung my song–given you a piece of my heart. I showed you my lyrics. Now, maybe someday when you wake up from your fears and truly listen to your dreams, you’ll be able to show me yours.

.x.

a.n. critique, reviews? i wrote this in fragments of time so it probably skips through a lot of emotions at times but anyways...i wanted to write a short love story but to me, this is more of a heartache story. i like how it turned out and even if the plot seems cliche or not detailed, its just more of a fragment thing. i guess...