I hold an impossible mirror above my head, just out of reach.

The audience can't see it, only me.
They clap and laugh and grin while I do my routine.

Meanwhile something hangs overhead.

So I'll do the dance, I'll put on the show, I'll do what they want.

But I scream within,
for mirror shards are no fickle sin.

"More! More!" they chant.

So I hold up the mirror instead.

But they know no difference.
For the mirror,
is what they've always been fed.

I feel a unique sensation,
When the first hello,
Feels like the thousandth time,
How I look into someone’s eyes,
And know they’re meant to be mine,
Maybe as a friend,
Or a lover,
But I can tell,
By the way their eyes hover,
Closing in on me,
Ready for me to discover,
The life I knew before,
Has become a closed door,
Your hand in mine,
Feels like it never left,
My heart is filled with unrest,
Until we meet again,
And you realize,
That I’ve always,
Known you.

Leon Russell is tickling the ivories tonight,
Playing in his liquid and impossibly smooth way,
As I pull another Lucky Strike from a half empty pack,
As I contemplate the feeling in my gut.

As if an invisible hand is tugging at my stomach,
Gentle but firm,
As I contemplate the words you just sent me,
Sending me into a spiral with effortless ease.

Making me pour over every punctuation mark like it might be the Rosetta Stone that'll decipher the text you dropped into my lap before you headed to bed.

Leon croons and I ponder,
Tap tapping ash into a growing pile upon the ashtray,
How could such a slip of a woman make me so nervous I wonder,
Like I'm rock climbing without a belay.

Keeping me on my heels,
Giving me whiplash in the worst kinda way,
Loving the way it feels,
But hating how the matter won't just stop bothing me and leave me to lay.

As Leon wraps up and exit the stage,
Good ol' Taylor saunders up and after taking a seat at the stool,
And begins to expertly play.

Realization I think begins to dawn,
And frankly scares me shitless,
To find that the text is actually a wonderful and terrifying grenade in disguise.

it scares me to love you,
because everything you love,
always gets old to you,
everything will someday lose its color to you.

like that day when we were outside,
strolling the park side-by-side,
admiring the glories of the cloudy day,
but it began to pour,
and you told me you loved the rain days prior.

you didn't embrace it,
you hurriedly ran the way back home,
dragging me along helplessly.

i arched a brow,
and blew the question out of my lips,
"i thought you loved the rain?"
you let out a raspy chuckle,
shrugging your shoulders as you bent down.

"it got old, the rain's full of bacteria,"
you responded like it was no big ordeal,
heaving as you ran your fingers through your pocket,
in search for your keys.

it hit me then,
falling in love with you,
would just be like loving the rain to you,
it'll get old and it'll be filled with bacteria.

and i thought you loved the rain,
but running from it isn't love,
and i thought i loved you, too,
but this isn't love, is it?