she's a rebel, she's a saint
love is a funny thing. one moment it's got you on the ropes, pinned in the corner, pummeling you in the guts, take after take. cut after cut, take fifty-eight. day after day your face hits the canvas, bodily fluids bouncing on the mat in hollywood slow motion. take fifty-nine. the world goes black and here you are, slumped over a box of yellowing photos in a dusty attic. over and over again, you can't stop.
you learn to find comfort in small moments of transient beauty, fifteen minute phone calls with the girl you left (i suppose a part of you needs the punishment), short exchanges with strangers and the knowledge that you won't be stuck in this town forever. letters from friends and the commiseration of characters in movies on cable tv. you clench your little scraps of hope and try to lift yourself up anyway you can, but you keep hearing these sad songs in your head. evaporated, high and dry. the best thing that you had has gone away.
you learn not to scream so much. you learn to take the pain, to keep it to yourself. and sometimes it seems that love is dead. she's in love, love is dead, hunter thompson is dead, 55 shiites in iraq are dead and you just know that you're going to become some bitter, chain-smoking expatriate who takes pride in hating everything equally.
but then, everything can change. suddenly she's there and you're tagging along for a delivery run, streetlights flashing by, headlights on dirt roads, your face hurts from smiling so much, and she puts on the new green day. your fingers touch, and you don't feel nervous or desparate or trapped, and you don't expect a damn thing. you're just warm and lit up, feeling lucky and amazed. life has been laughing at you all this time and finally, you're laughing with it again.
"you were gonna ask me out, weren't you?"
"well, i think we should hang out."
"i knew it. i knew i'd wear you down."
you learn to find comfort in small moments of transient beauty, fifteen minute phone calls with the girl you left (i suppose a part of you needs the punishment), short exchanges with strangers and the knowledge that you won't be stuck in this town forever. letters from friends and the commiseration of characters in movies on cable tv. you clench your little scraps of hope and try to lift yourself up anyway you can, but you keep hearing these sad songs in your head. evaporated, high and dry. the best thing that you had has gone away.
you learn not to scream so much. you learn to take the pain, to keep it to yourself. and sometimes it seems that love is dead. she's in love, love is dead, hunter thompson is dead, 55 shiites in iraq are dead and you just know that you're going to become some bitter, chain-smoking expatriate who takes pride in hating everything equally.
but then, everything can change. suddenly she's there and you're tagging along for a delivery run, streetlights flashing by, headlights on dirt roads, your face hurts from smiling so much, and she puts on the new green day. your fingers touch, and you don't feel nervous or desparate or trapped, and you don't expect a damn thing. you're just warm and lit up, feeling lucky and amazed. life has been laughing at you all this time and finally, you're laughing with it again.
"you were gonna ask me out, weren't you?"
"well, i think we should hang out."
"i knew it. i knew i'd wear you down."