when I finally die, you'll start living
excuse me while I ramble, write a love letter to an imaginary lover in some far land. where its sunday morning in heaven. where hollywood is actually bright. where someday, she'll get what she wants, where everyone will know she is, when she becomes a star and one day, she'll know who I am. when its cold and there she is, that someone warm to hold and she'll be there telling me stories and keeping my feelings occupied. we could be watching the clouds move across the sky, with everything that I need and we'll return to my apartment thats just too small. but I don't know if I want to be around for it. unless I can stay here with you. bc you know I hate wondering where you are.
speaking in lyrics and tones in three-four time. singing songs solo or screaming with the chorus. waiting outside her door as her dress rehearsal ends or for her song to begin. I could look at stains of the carpet from the fights we had from the wine spilt and ringing the new year. listening to the tap of the keyboard or the songs she sings along with. all of these things seem so little and minute but its every little detail that tames my conscience.
waiting for the sun to drown, waiting for spring to come forward and push me around. it would be easier if the look of the stranger was just a famaliar face. but my memory is bound to forget and remember the best part of nothing. trying to patch together something with duck tape and lines. its a lonely feeling. where the words are falling onto the pages and I can begin to describe the feeling when one by one my dreams fade as slowly as my hair turns to gray.
though everytime I come back home, with all of the people around me, and those around me who know my name. I stop and think that the key I use to open the door will no longer be able to be used anymore. when someone else will be living inside. and sometimes I think, 'will I be back this time?' I live in a city where the streets are not the same. where my thoughts go on uneven flows and its got that charm where it takes be back to anywhere but here.
but maybe this is the best part of being lonely. the pain in my chest and the new words I try to make up for old desires. the reintrepretation I create for the same longing I constantly deny myself. I pretend that I love being alone. for the most part, being alone isn't that much fun anymore. instead of talking with someone along the route 5 I spend my time counting the yellow lines and hope for a chartered drift that will eventually lead me home.
but I hope that you can climb high into the sky and you get what you want. and I'll be back here singing lullabies from the lines I once tried. and you'll be brave and you'll go far and someday, yeah, you'll go far. you're going to be a star. one day, you will know who I am. you'll be in movies, so much talent that you're fit for the town. you deserve to be in movies. in books. in tv shows. in magazines. you'll be heard. you'll be praised.
but for now, we can go home, watch movies and broadway shows. we can be lazy dreamers. make plans. draw ourselves in pictures. go far and go north. sing to songs we don't know. ride bicycles. camp in the forest. make fun of the unemployed. sit on the opposing side at sports games. make home made tv shows. driving each other crazy. walk down alleyways and run down boulevards. sit side by side text messaging others. best of all, we'll spend all this time when the days slip behind us. soft words and whispers. kisses lead me to something I'll believe. its a pipe dream I guess. I'll follow the melody and see where it unfolds.
speaking in lyrics and tones in three-four time. singing songs solo or screaming with the chorus. waiting outside her door as her dress rehearsal ends or for her song to begin. I could look at stains of the carpet from the fights we had from the wine spilt and ringing the new year. listening to the tap of the keyboard or the songs she sings along with. all of these things seem so little and minute but its every little detail that tames my conscience.
waiting for the sun to drown, waiting for spring to come forward and push me around. it would be easier if the look of the stranger was just a famaliar face. but my memory is bound to forget and remember the best part of nothing. trying to patch together something with duck tape and lines. its a lonely feeling. where the words are falling onto the pages and I can begin to describe the feeling when one by one my dreams fade as slowly as my hair turns to gray.
though everytime I come back home, with all of the people around me, and those around me who know my name. I stop and think that the key I use to open the door will no longer be able to be used anymore. when someone else will be living inside. and sometimes I think, 'will I be back this time?' I live in a city where the streets are not the same. where my thoughts go on uneven flows and its got that charm where it takes be back to anywhere but here.
but maybe this is the best part of being lonely. the pain in my chest and the new words I try to make up for old desires. the reintrepretation I create for the same longing I constantly deny myself. I pretend that I love being alone. for the most part, being alone isn't that much fun anymore. instead of talking with someone along the route 5 I spend my time counting the yellow lines and hope for a chartered drift that will eventually lead me home.
but I hope that you can climb high into the sky and you get what you want. and I'll be back here singing lullabies from the lines I once tried. and you'll be brave and you'll go far and someday, yeah, you'll go far. you're going to be a star. one day, you will know who I am. you'll be in movies, so much talent that you're fit for the town. you deserve to be in movies. in books. in tv shows. in magazines. you'll be heard. you'll be praised.
but for now, we can go home, watch movies and broadway shows. we can be lazy dreamers. make plans. draw ourselves in pictures. go far and go north. sing to songs we don't know. ride bicycles. camp in the forest. make fun of the unemployed. sit on the opposing side at sports games. make home made tv shows. driving each other crazy. walk down alleyways and run down boulevards. sit side by side text messaging others. best of all, we'll spend all this time when the days slip behind us. soft words and whispers. kisses lead me to something I'll believe. its a pipe dream I guess. I'll follow the melody and see where it unfolds.