Black Dresses
Especially this:
"But the irony of the story is when I fell to my knees, and began clawing at the dirt in front of the tombstone of my bashful childhood, with you by my side, you're screaming at the top of your lungs, "Let it go", and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs..."
That really is the irony. All we ever want to do is grow up. Then we lose our innocence and the world seems ugly sometimes instead of just intriguing and beautiful and all we want is to dig up our childhood and run with it. There's always someone telling you "Let it go." ... but how can you let go of the only thing you really know? How can you let go of your life..? Your past..? thats what makes you who you are presently. So you scream as loud as you can... even if its just internally. And no one understands... until that moment they're standing in front of a life time of memories just wishing they could hold their own hand as a child... and run.
And sometimes you even feel like your life is being buried. You keep moving on even though all you want to do is stop time for awhile and just re-live all the things you've seen. And done. And been through... and you can't. So you claw at the dirt and do the best you can at digging it up.. but all thats underground is the empty casket and the bones. And the memories are only dust. Nothing you can touch because if you did touch it... it only disintegrates. So you cry, and scream, and beg God or whoever else there is to not let it go away... because all you want to do is preserve it forever. Forever in a little box, buried under other little boxes, in the third desk drawer, where everything that has ever meant anything lies.. dusty.
"But the irony of the story is when I fell to my knees, and began clawing at the dirt in front of the tombstone of my bashful childhood, with you by my side, you're screaming at the top of your lungs, "Let it go", and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs..."
That really is the irony. All we ever want to do is grow up. Then we lose our innocence and the world seems ugly sometimes instead of just intriguing and beautiful and all we want is to dig up our childhood and run with it. There's always someone telling you "Let it go." ... but how can you let go of the only thing you really know? How can you let go of your life..? Your past..? thats what makes you who you are presently. So you scream as loud as you can... even if its just internally. And no one understands... until that moment they're standing in front of a life time of memories just wishing they could hold their own hand as a child... and run.
And sometimes you even feel like your life is being buried. You keep moving on even though all you want to do is stop time for awhile and just re-live all the things you've seen. And done. And been through... and you can't. So you claw at the dirt and do the best you can at digging it up.. but all thats underground is the empty casket and the bones. And the memories are only dust. Nothing you can touch because if you did touch it... it only disintegrates. So you cry, and scream, and beg God or whoever else there is to not let it go away... because all you want to do is preserve it forever. Forever in a little box, buried under other little boxes, in the third desk drawer, where everything that has ever meant anything lies.. dusty.