You Were But a Dream

I lie awake and reckon
Where you might be
Who you might be with
If you're thinking about me
I hug my pillow close
And pray you're safe and warm
Turn over to the window
And listen to the storm

Nights like this together
We'd fill the air with words
And begin to notice sunlight
And hear the song of birds
Been so long since we spoke
I wonder if you sound the same
But it all runs like water
Down my windowpane

Cause here alone in the dark
I can't escape my thoughts
Counting old regrets
I claimed long ago forgot
I could try to win you back
But would not know where to start
Don't know where you are out there
But still feel you in my heart

Even if I drifted off
Sleep wouldn't be serene
So I stare into the darkness
And wonder what it all could mean
I'll be fine come morning
In my daily routine
I'll act as if we never happened
And you were but a dream


This is probably the best of my unfinished songs. Gotta get on it! It's so sweet. It's not really about anybody, never had the experience of spending loads of time with someone, staying up late talking, not getting sick of them. It'd be cool though, to lose if I got to love first. Actually, this song sort of came true 1.5 years to the day after I finished writing it, so maybe I shouldn't write songs of imagined pain lest they become self-fulfilling prophesies. (The only other time this has happened (I think) was a song about drinking wine with this dreamboat I had a crush on forever, and the experience turned out to be like something out of a movie, really neat!) Whatever, Faulkner said (this was actually quoted by Mary Carillo during the French Open men's final broadcast this past Sunday morning), "Between grief and nothing, I'll take grief." Totallah.