A Song for You

So today I wrote a song for you
Cause a day can get so long
And I know its hard to make it through
When you say there's something wrong

So, today I wrote down some words for you. I wrote them in my brain. I wrote some of them on a page, too (but not all of them). I wrote because a day can get very long--you can forget who you are, what you are, and what you are doing, all in a day. Yes, a day can get long and life can too. Life treads on--always in the interim--in the in-between--but the poles on one side get longer and longer, and the inexpressible one on the other remains there--measureless. You would think this squishing of life between these two would make it short--at least one day. But, for whatever reason, it does not.

So Im trying to put it right
Cause I want to love you with my heart
All this trying has made me tight
And I dont know even where to start

Maybe thats a start

The words that I wrote--that I am constantly writing--I want them to be right. How do you make write right? How do you press words into disciplined, rigorous service? It does make me tight. I don't even know where to start with you--really. I guess you could say that, in that way, you make me speechless? I don't know. But, yes, I don't know where to start. Is that a start? I don't know. I have started before and ended too. I have begun and not finished. I want to finish this song--this poem--this story--this narrative. I want to insert the definitive plot line that will lead to the climax and the finish. You know? But, I'm tight. I'm tight trying to get the write right.

Cause you know its a simple game
That you play filling up your head with rain
And you know you are hiding from your pain
In the way, in the way you say your name

It is a simple game. We have played alot of games, you and I. They have not all had simple rules--but they all have had a simple purpose. Why do they end with rain--with heads full of rain precipitating coiled up words? Rain isn't bad. I like the rain. But, rain isn't good if it means denial or running.

And you're so tired you don't sleep at night
As your heart is trying to mend
You keep it quiet but you think you might
Disappear before the end

I know you sleep. I know you mend. I know you sleep in different places for different reasons. I know you sometimes keep it incredibly quiet--but not always. I know you won't disappear before the end--not you. But, I don't know how to mend the two ends. I don't know how to mend your end with mine. Oh well. In the interim, int the perpetual in-between, I'll keep writing songs for you. People like that, don't they?