This is my response to Konstantine. It's certainly not as well written as that greatness, but this is about twelve minutes with the piano, so. (I've already posted the first part, but . . . yeah.)
This is when I find out that a spark can light this house on fire.
And the shaprest hint of the scent of your hair can bring me down.
At one thirty, when I realize you're not with me,
Well does it hurt you? That I don't call you?
This is to say that all I want to do,
Is write another song for you, and play the guitar,
But first I've got to find out where you are.
So your cologne can put this fire out,
And stop this place from burning down,
Into ashes of what I was and into all I want to be,
With you in New York City, someday.
I know you're farther than I think you are,
And Spring left me with nothing but kerosene,
(With the hope that this wind will blow me through your long, blonde hair.)
So I wash my face and I clean my veins,
And I hope that something will stop me,
To erase all the past ten months have put me through.
But I'm still lost in this corner that you sat me in,
For keeping my hands to you.
But it's cool, and my bed is warm, and I can't let go.
Let go of all these feelings I've had, while thinking of you,
But you ask me to. And you beg me to.
It may not be that obvious, but I know you're begging me to do it,
One more time.
I don't want to say goodbye, that word has passed through me so many times,
Since January, but I'm just now catching on.
And when you're alone in the dark,
May I ask permission to call you, to keep you company?
Because I've also been lonely.
Merlot, Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon - I've got so many I've never got to share with you.
So I apologize for assuming you felt even the smallest bit of enclosed feelings.
I've just noted that you don't care.
Three months had affected me so traumatically,
That I don't know if I remember the fourth and anything after.
I don't want to say goodbye, because the last time I said it,
I was with you and I felt at home (that's fine).
Well, that feeling of welcome within you is lost to me.
It's brought me down and I'm numb to it anymore.
And I want to go, every day, to a place near the water,
Where it always feels like Fall.
It's cold. I asked, "Can you love?"
And the sun's out just enough, so we know it's still there.
But still - why can't you love? Well, can you love?
My piano keys smell like smoke,
And I hope that you're happy.
Now, did I ever get your number?
Well, things changed as well as the Spring time.
Everything was fine, until you let me down,
But I can feel you like Fall.
When I think of you, I think of the first time I saw you laugh.
So why don't you laugh anymore?
Aren't you happy to see me?
I'm sorry I wasn't too much to handle, like before.
Your smile is brilliant, so brilliant.
I apologize for not wanting to dance - I'm not too experienced.
We can say you're not who I think of when I'm at-bat.
Or that I'm smoking in the restroom again,
Because you're not here to save me when some game's two hours end.
When I'm out too late, and I get bored,
I want you to know it's not by you.
It's only caused by things I wish you'd say or do.
But now, it's Fall. Your laugh's not enough to remind me of you,
And late night calls.
"Now is now," how could we forget that?
Disconnected phone numbers we thought were sincere,
Were never as close as the laugh that I hear,
When I say goodnight. But my phone's not rung.
And I just wanted to call you.
If I had known you loved the piano, I would have played it for you.
"Kentucky girls are heartbreakers," Trevor, now I understand.
Falling down these flights of stairs, we lost your number.
It's not as easy as "867.something.something."
So, this is what you get as the 80s song I was to write for you.
Your photic smile gets me every time that I stare down the sun.
In some dark, wanted corner, I see your eyes; and we know,
They're green. Or have they always been brown,
Like the sand we built this house on?
I apologize for not wanting to dance one more time with you.
"You've got the greatest name . . ." soft and brilliant, is it?
Is it as brilliant as you? You're so . . .
And I'm so lonely, missing your laugh.
867 . . . no. 231 . . . no. I guess I've forgotten.
