To Christmases.

I think I've been having a lovely, lovely Christmas so far(:

We'll return back home to where we're meant to be

Oh lover, hold on

Til I come back again

For these arms, are growing tired

And my tales are wearing thing

Time out

I've been scared, afraid; my insides shaking that I think I might break 

But I've been blocking it out and trying to move forward instead. And I have. Because that's far easier. It's far easier to do something that will help yourself or take you away from the fear rather than just address it. 

And then I've also been a little bit sad. 

I mean, I've also been happy, incredibly so. I've been contented, smiley and settled...mostly. 

But these trace amounts of sadness, they creep up on me and the next moment I'm tearing up as I admit how it feels like sometimes I'm still battling a time difference. 

Even though it's something that isn't new. Even though it's something I would've thought I've dealt with already, in all this time. 

So with that,

Some days just... deserve to be yours. 

And you go.

You settle down somewhere you thought of on a whim, and you seat yourself on a high stool and breathe in that scent that comes when you're on your own, and light, and happy. 

The smell that has a hint of sweetness- a mix of freshly cut grass and apples. 

And then you read a book.

A children's book. 

One that makes you cry and laugh and smile and cry and laugh, all in turn. 

And you think, I couldn't have picked a more fitting book. 

You think, I really really needed this. 

You think,

Now this is an afternoon I deserved. 

Falling slowly

Giddy with the scent of you

And She Said

And she said
kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Don't make me a promise
that you'll only break
Kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Cos I am mostly tired
of trying
to keep myself safe

Stories whispered against your skin
and I love yous that bruise your arms
The pretties pictures drawn in the sand
and letters you send to the stars

Now I know dreams are just for dreaming
We forget the tunes to the songs
we wrote
Pictures weren't always meant for keeping
and there's a cold you can feel
in your bones

And she said
kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Don't make me a promise
that you'll only break
Kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Cos I am mostly tired
of trying
to keep myself safe

Quiet secrets beside still waters
Boxes we thought we had closed
tear-stained pages, in empty chapels
but with the knowing you're not on your own

Now I know dreams are just for dreaming
But don't let me forget
all the songs I will write
Leave me pictures good for framing
and at the end of the day
come back home

And she said
kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Don't make me a promise
that you'll only break
Kiss me like you mean it
hold me like you'll stay
Cos I am mostly tired
of trying
to keep myself safe

(C) May 2013

_______________________________________________________________________

You can write things a long time ago and then come back to it months, even years after to find that they still hold true. That there are some things that you still feel the same way about, even if they're slightly different things from an experience prior.
Just that maybe, the difference is that one is a little better equipped to deal with how one feels.
And that always helps.

Or.
You can write things that start off being about one person and then it turns out to be about another.
In fact, it's almost like, as you write, you realise you've discovered more about people you didn't even know you were writing about.

And then, sometimes, it's a mixture of all those things.
Sometimes it's about you, sometimes about her, and sometimes it's about someone completely outside of your own world.
Maybe that's the draw of writing- that lines of songs fleshed out with tunes can mean different things to (or for) different people, and that you can keep coming back to it and find something new.
For yourself, or y'know, someone else.

_________________________________________________________________________

now,

Don't make her a promise
that you'll only break

1984

It was a only an 'opeless fancy,
It passed like an Ipril dye ,
But a look an 'a word an' a dreams they stirred
They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!"