i have friends that are best listened to on paper. on a screen. always after drinking. certainly them, possibly me. and at a distance. one such friend passed these lines to me last night, and it was more elegant than anything that i had to say. it is best that my friends are left longing for more. my interest is defined by it. more or less.
tell me something beautiful,
but maybe not so typical
as a walk on the beach
or cuddling by the fire,
cause i need more
than just air to breathe,
or a sweet idea
of what love is meant to be.
where are we now,
that it seems like so long ago
we both believed
our precious notions.
and through it all
i pinch myself;
but i'm trapped in restless sleep,
looking for the dream
that i want to awake to,
but it flickers away in a
mist of misunderstanding
and causes pity to rain down
and wash the ground
away into some nothing.
and so day after day
i sit lonesome,
wishing for something typical;
just for starters i'll build you a fire, and we can walk along
the beach to your heart's desire, if you promise not to go,
and i'll call you beautiful, because that's who you are.
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