I want something that I cannot have. I cannot have it because I don't truly know what it is. I've seen it polished and propped as if it were on display and I've heard the stories of how much time and effort it took to make it look as such. But I want it. I want love. I want the idea of it at least.
I want the fights brought about by events simpler and less important than the time we wasted to have them. I want to be pained by the sight of her pain and know that the feeling of knives piercing my chest when I see her cry is there because I would literally drive them there myself, if only to prevent her tears.
I want our laughs to intertwine over the smallest things and our conversations to stretch our minds over the biggest. I want to see you sleep at night and I'll smile because I know that you're finally at peace. And I want you to smile when you wake up because you know that I'm fighting to make your reality better than your dreams.
I want love. I want romantic love, I want crazy love. I want passion. I want to pick you up in my arms and in that brief present get lost in your presence. I want to be in you when I am in you and have you wish that I would stay forever. I want to be in your heart and mind, and I want our love to be torturous and blind.
I just want love. I want the idea of it at least.
And even at night I still wonder if it could have been you
all those lightning bugs and stars we chased
Burnt fingers and summer nights alone
It meant something
Even if they're nearly memories now
And I don't think I'll be able to shake it:
The thought of you
Quiet and pressing like I used to wait for my mother's attention
I'm still strung up on bottled affection
Don't you come around me
We'll never be small again but I still live on your porch
Won't you invite me in?
Won't you finally let the light in?
And even though I know it would never work
I still talk about you to god and my friends
Still wonder after your wide eyed innocence and boyish gate
Still moon after blue lips and mud encrusted shoes
I still wonder about you
Memories of dinosaurs and changing leaves
Bath time and the scent of cigarettes drifting off your mothers hair
And as we grew so did the distance
Traded dinosaurs and race cars for new addresses and opposing forrests
Towering ideals of the oddity we call home
But even this can be bridged by melodies sung at tender hours of the night in your attic
Only we can say we spent the last breath of 2014 singing a madman's hymns
Only we can tangle as we do through fumbled melodies and timeless sentiments
And even still
I wonder if it could have been you
This is because I still think about the scent of your house and the way you sang.
— The End —