it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Remember when we used to look how sun sets far away?
And how you said: "This is never over"
I believed your every word and I guess you did too
But now you're saying: "Hey, let's think this over"
Irony, mayhap. Universe playing tricks on itself. I value love, I value it above most other things, and I'm perpetually thrown in the spin cycle by it, the whole of my life a search for it, seeing it slip through my hands.
Completely convinced love is the thing I cannot live without...forever in that space of living without it, for one reason or another.
Irony, mayhap. Is there another word for it?
You take my hand and pull me next to you, so close to you
I have a feeling you don't have the words
I found one for you, kiss your cheek, say bye, and walk away
Don't look back, 'cause I am crying...
My favorite songs are those dealing with love lost, love endangered, broken hearts. Jealousy, for all I deplore it, in others or in myself. Songs railing at the injustice of the lover, or the loved. My favorite music is set in minor keys. My favorite weather? Overcast or raining.
Does it surprise anyone when asked for my favorite color, and I name black first, grey second, purple only third?
I remember little things you hardly ever do
Tell me why, I don't know why it's over
I remember shooting stars, the walk we took that night
I hope your wish came true, mine betrayed me
New love...I can't say the intoxication isn't part of what I love about it. That rush of emotion, that rush of endorphins, that somewhat total focus on the new person in the life...it can be dizzying, richer than spring wine, sweeter than drowsy summer air. It can be addicting.
You let my hand go, and you fake a smile for me
I have a feeling you don't know what to do
I look deep in your eyes and hesitate a while...
Why are you crying?
I think some are addicted to it, so much so that when new love becomes established love, they seek the exit points, willing or unwilling, because they think they need that rush of surprised joy to still be in love.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...heaven
But established love, long-term love, for me? That's even better. Love that's grown familiar, the bliss in watching the sun fall together, the knowing of another person...what touches will bring them to gasping, what to say to bring that warmth and joy to their eyes. What will anger them beyond all things. Their psychic pressure points, and how to protect them from being triggered by others, by...myself...All the little details of joining one life, to that other's.
I see you walking hand in hand with long-haired drummer of the band
In love with her or so it seems, he's dancing with my beauty queen
Don't even dare to say you hi, still swallowing the goodbye
But I know the feeling's still alive, still alive
Being seen, by that other. This is who I am. I trust you with it. That point of no more hiding. We cannot have this if we don't invest the time, if that rush of new love's heady drunken rise doesn't fade.
I lost my patience once, so do you punish me now?
I'll always love you, no matter what you do
I'll win you back for me if you give me a chance
But there is one thing you must understand
I look to established pairings on the grid. Guideposts, mayhap, on my wandering path. Lighthouses shining their light on the wide sea to bring me home, keep me from the reefs. I watch what I can of Edward, and his beloved Lady Primbroke, Christine; I watch Lord and Lady Bardhaven; I watch my Queen and her Consort, at play, sometimes at love.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...
Do I think they never argue, these couples I count as guides? Of course not. Do I think they'll always be together? It would be foolish indeed to assume such. The seeds of ending are in every beginning. We're born, that is also the moment we begin our walk to death. All things pass. All things change.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...
But more than that, I know the value of established love. I've said it many times: You cannot truly love someone, if you don't love the way they argue. But also as true, you cannot truly love someone, if you don't love them when love stops being new.
Give me the long-term, every time. Give me the familiar. Give me the body and the heart I know, I can trust, I can be open with. Give me those months of exploration and learning, those steps grown steady, walking with instead of charging ahead, lagging behind, laughing at the inconsistency.
What I need to do is stop expecting the loss of love, new or old. Stop seeing ahead to where all endings live. If it's to be, it will be, and needs no help from me to urge it on.
I need to accept that love is lasting. It's not a lie if I let myself believe that I am loved, that I can love, longer than a season of time. I live in my heart under grey skies, in minor keys. That's my choice. I don't also have to live under the shadow of love's loss.
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss within the cup
And I'll not ask for wine.
My favorite songs are songs of endings. My favorite music is depressing. As Shirley Manson sang, "I'm only happy when it rains..."
But I'm good on the long-term. I'm good when love extends. Regardless of who I am, what I expect, how often my love life explodes...I value, I prefer love for always, over love for just now. It's more work, yes, but it leads to things of such worth, all poetry fails to describe them.
I just need to settle my unsettled soul, that I'm worth such love. And stop apologizing for those times when I, by nature, will doubt, as long as I always come back to true.
Love measured in terms of months, of years? Of decades? That is true richness of love. Not the bright burning of infatuation. The steady warming glow of knowing, knowing, we'll see the same face when we return home, of believing that face, that heart, is where we live, that name engraved upon our spirits.
Give that to me any day, and my soul will need very little else.
(Lyrics are from the gorgeously depressing Sonata Arctica, and their song 'Tallulah'. Ending couplet is the first stanza of Ben Jonson's poem, To Celia.)
And how you said: "This is never over"
I believed your every word and I guess you did too
But now you're saying: "Hey, let's think this over"
Irony, mayhap. Universe playing tricks on itself. I value love, I value it above most other things, and I'm perpetually thrown in the spin cycle by it, the whole of my life a search for it, seeing it slip through my hands.
Completely convinced love is the thing I cannot live without...forever in that space of living without it, for one reason or another.
Irony, mayhap. Is there another word for it?
You take my hand and pull me next to you, so close to you
I have a feeling you don't have the words
I found one for you, kiss your cheek, say bye, and walk away
Don't look back, 'cause I am crying...
My favorite songs are those dealing with love lost, love endangered, broken hearts. Jealousy, for all I deplore it, in others or in myself. Songs railing at the injustice of the lover, or the loved. My favorite music is set in minor keys. My favorite weather? Overcast or raining.
Does it surprise anyone when asked for my favorite color, and I name black first, grey second, purple only third?
I remember little things you hardly ever do
Tell me why, I don't know why it's over
I remember shooting stars, the walk we took that night
I hope your wish came true, mine betrayed me
New love...I can't say the intoxication isn't part of what I love about it. That rush of emotion, that rush of endorphins, that somewhat total focus on the new person in the life...it can be dizzying, richer than spring wine, sweeter than drowsy summer air. It can be addicting.
You let my hand go, and you fake a smile for me
I have a feeling you don't know what to do
I look deep in your eyes and hesitate a while...
Why are you crying?
I think some are addicted to it, so much so that when new love becomes established love, they seek the exit points, willing or unwilling, because they think they need that rush of surprised joy to still be in love.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...heaven
But established love, long-term love, for me? That's even better. Love that's grown familiar, the bliss in watching the sun fall together, the knowing of another person...what touches will bring them to gasping, what to say to bring that warmth and joy to their eyes. What will anger them beyond all things. Their psychic pressure points, and how to protect them from being triggered by others, by...myself...All the little details of joining one life, to that other's.
I see you walking hand in hand with long-haired drummer of the band
In love with her or so it seems, he's dancing with my beauty queen
Don't even dare to say you hi, still swallowing the goodbye
But I know the feeling's still alive, still alive
Being seen, by that other. This is who I am. I trust you with it. That point of no more hiding. We cannot have this if we don't invest the time, if that rush of new love's heady drunken rise doesn't fade.
I lost my patience once, so do you punish me now?
I'll always love you, no matter what you do
I'll win you back for me if you give me a chance
But there is one thing you must understand
I look to established pairings on the grid. Guideposts, mayhap, on my wandering path. Lighthouses shining their light on the wide sea to bring me home, keep me from the reefs. I watch what I can of Edward, and his beloved Lady Primbroke, Christine; I watch Lord and Lady Bardhaven; I watch my Queen and her Consort, at play, sometimes at love.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...
Do I think they never argue, these couples I count as guides? Of course not. Do I think they'll always be together? It would be foolish indeed to assume such. The seeds of ending are in every beginning. We're born, that is also the moment we begin our walk to death. All things pass. All things change.
Tallulah
it's easier to live alone than fear the time it's over
Tallulah, find the words and talk to me, oh, Tallulah,
This could be...
But more than that, I know the value of established love. I've said it many times: You cannot truly love someone, if you don't love the way they argue. But also as true, you cannot truly love someone, if you don't love them when love stops being new.
Give me the long-term, every time. Give me the familiar. Give me the body and the heart I know, I can trust, I can be open with. Give me those months of exploration and learning, those steps grown steady, walking with instead of charging ahead, lagging behind, laughing at the inconsistency.
What I need to do is stop expecting the loss of love, new or old. Stop seeing ahead to where all endings live. If it's to be, it will be, and needs no help from me to urge it on.
I need to accept that love is lasting. It's not a lie if I let myself believe that I am loved, that I can love, longer than a season of time. I live in my heart under grey skies, in minor keys. That's my choice. I don't also have to live under the shadow of love's loss.
Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss within the cup
And I'll not ask for wine.
My favorite songs are songs of endings. My favorite music is depressing. As Shirley Manson sang, "I'm only happy when it rains..."
But I'm good on the long-term. I'm good when love extends. Regardless of who I am, what I expect, how often my love life explodes...I value, I prefer love for always, over love for just now. It's more work, yes, but it leads to things of such worth, all poetry fails to describe them.
I just need to settle my unsettled soul, that I'm worth such love. And stop apologizing for those times when I, by nature, will doubt, as long as I always come back to true.
Love measured in terms of months, of years? Of decades? That is true richness of love. Not the bright burning of infatuation. The steady warming glow of knowing, knowing, we'll see the same face when we return home, of believing that face, that heart, is where we live, that name engraved upon our spirits.
Give that to me any day, and my soul will need very little else.
(Lyrics are from the gorgeously depressing Sonata Arctica, and their song 'Tallulah'. Ending couplet is the first stanza of Ben Jonson's poem, To Celia.)
Comments
"Beautiful"
Thank you, my Queen.