6 years past in the blink of my eye. Nothing you can say that wont be trite and shallow because the feeling is too deep for words. Writing words is like graffiti scribbled over a headstone, scratched into the granite, covering the real meaning. Chopped at the root, deep, where it means something, not at the surface where rings continue to grow, to ripple out as the years go on.stunted , a stopped clock, frozen moment in time. I want to stop the last scene in my mind liike a movie camera, let flower petals or snow flakes flutter down , want to know that this was it,last chance. make it beautiful. you never realize til its too late. zoom out and frame the last shot but the picture is already gone, how things can change in a minute.
the key to the puzzle is broken, you un learned the code, it dont make sense now. The scab already starting to form but there will always be a soft place underneath. days will go by and simplify everything. flatten it into a 2D photo still.
But nothing coulda been changed. some how time pushed you forward and you fell thru the little cracks that appeared as the days went on. you will never look back and smile. This is the pain that will keep somewhere, untouched, like the dead kitten you buried in your backyard in a tupperware dish when it didnt survive, cried and tried to forget where you placed it in the ground. Youll push it back and avoid it all you can praying that youll never be alone long enough to let it catch up to you. sometimes in your mind you will travel back to the private sorrow and sink into it for a while.....
your mind plays tricks,the past and reality overlap too much. you want it to be behind you, something solid and definite like a black and white picture in a photo album, how the kitchen at your grandmothers house is different now, and theres a fridge there and the table is on the other side of the room, and now that one wall is the back door and theres a new oven. Changed. you wouldnt have to get that quick sad feeling if everything was to go back to 1970s color schemes and all the old appliances were still there and you could almost go back in time if you imagined just right. Its different enough that theres no risk of involuntary mental time travel.
but when it stays the same, when the same bench is there, the same bar you went to and the same chair outside on the porch its too close. you cant move on because how can the two lives exist on top of each other? you dont want to forget about the old, go over it like your old cassette tapes from childhood that ended up with songs from the radio recorded over. still there, but the original content is gone.
you wrestle with this shit for a while and finally say fuck it. you stop the sentimental bullshit and the thoughts about anything,really. You harden up, go thru life half assed just like the rest of everybody else does, god only knows the things that made them exist in shades of gray but everybody got em, crushed dream, unrequited love, dead child, father,mother, wife....lost the job, house foreclosed, sexually abused, suicidal. they all got somethin, everybody does. A lifetime of that and you kind of happily give in to the monotony and its almost a relieif that you know this is all there is. The melodramatic pictures you painted in your mind are like cheap landscapes from sears hanging in a double wide or a rent by the hour motel room with burn holes all over the bedspreads. You let them drift away from you and a dull discomfort is the worst emotion you allow yourself to indulge in.
You find yourself alone on a saturday night with a bottle of 151 and a couple bundles of heroin, cigarette burning out in the ashtray, just you and the things you can count on, and do the thing you know how to do best. and every night, right when that shot hits home and you see the stars, in the long second before it goes dark you can almost see the image of love on the back of your eyelids, the only place it still lives.
Why did you go?
Why did you turn
away from me?
When all the world
seemed to sing
Why, why did you go?
Was it me?
Was it you?
Questions in a world of blue
How can a heart
that's filled with love
Start to cry?
When all the world
seemed so right
How, how can love die?
Was it me?
Was it you?
Questions in a world of blue
When did the day
with all it's light
turn into night?
When all the world
seemed to sing
Why, why did you go?
Was it me?
Was it you?
Questions in a world of blue
Questions in a world of blue
