January 14, 2009, 4:07 p.m.
A Song, with a tune for the chorus
I wrote this a year ago, and sometimes I sing the chorus. I don’t recall if I have a tune for the verse. I probably did, but because I can’t write music, I didn’t write it down, and don’t remember what the melody to the verse was like.
The reason I wrote it is somewhat self-explanatory. I foolishly let someone lead me to believe that I was special, and, as usually happens, I found out I wasn’t, I was just one of the women who he was seeing. And while these repeated experiences might keep my therapist in business for a long time to come, I also still (perhaps foolishly) hope that I really WILL be special to someone, not just anyone, but someone who I like in return (when one is female, one can get ample unwanted attention).
You may say I’m a dreamer. I’m 43 years old and have never been with someone who didn’t have another or others on the side. And I don’t want that again. I really do want to be treated with the dignity and respect I deserve, that all of us deserve. So I’ll keep hoping.
But, here’s the song. I think it was in a minor key. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll sing it and record it sometime. But it might make people cry or something. Wouldn’t want that. Not sure if the tears would be from the words, the tune, or my singing. Or all three, or some combination of two.
Different
Another night
Alone
And lonely
Drowning my thoughts in alcohol
Because this time
Chorus (in purple):
This time I thought it might be
Different
I thought you might be someone
I could count on
Rely on
And trust
But this time is no
Different
You’re no one special
To me
And I’m alone
Again
This time
This always happens
To me
It’s my problem
And yet I want you here with me
Because this time
(Chorus)
I’ve seen it all
I’m jaded
Been used again
And I need to know I matter
This time.
This time.
(Chorus, twice)
(fade out with) Always alone and lonely
This time
January 13, 2009, 7:05 p.m.
I used to write a lot more than I do now. I find that my creative energies need room to spring from the seed of an idea into a full-fledged work that might be worth seeing. Last night, I had a dream in which there was a brilliant song, so brilliant that it woke me, so I wrote it down. This morning, when I read it, I realized my brilliant song wasn’t only not brilliant, but was lame, perhaps even limp. It was that bad.
But the main theme has been running through my head all day. And the bulk of the theme is something along the lines of “your ego is bigger than mine” and/or “if only your heart was bigger than your ego.” No, I have no idea why this woke me, really. but I’m going to work with it.
However, in the midst of all that thinking, and pondering how to work it out, I was reminded of a poem I wrote, I couldn’t remember all the lines, but I always remember the last line. I share it here now because… well, because I can. I have it posted elsewhere. The original TYPED (yes, pre-computer) version of the song is in a notebook in the back of my closet, which is an oversized closet, as big as some people’s bedrooms—insane use of space, but I didn’t build it. But that’s where I have a six-foot wide shelf of writing.
Without further ado or rambling, here is the poem. Not sure it can be set to music, but it might be interesting to try.
Being Too Much in Love
Being this much in love
Is like a bird
Soaring effortlessly
Through the skies.
But, this little bird
Can make mistakes,
And there are buildings up there.
I fear that our love,
Like the bird,
Will crash someday
And fall violently
Against the ground.
And be dead.
And if it should die,
And if people talk
About us,
They will remember
Not how good this feels,
But how
Tragically we ended.
They won’t remember
The way we look at
Each other,
But more, the way
We look away.
And they’ll never know how
Good I feel to be with you,
But how hearing
Your name will
Make me want
To scream.
I love you.
And like that bird in the sky,
I never want to crash.
Let’s fly away together.
Forever.
Away from the buildings
To where we are snug and safe,
And we can be forever this way.
…Shoot me first.
