David Hines (hradzka) wrote,
David Hines
hradzka

APED: "passive-aggressive"

She doesn't dare to call them. Her voice would show her tears.
So she writes her lonely verses late at night,
For people left unseen she hasn't contacted for years.
But missed so sorely -- water blurs her sight.

Do people think about the friends they've lost along the way?
She thinks perhaps she does it more than most.
They're with her in the verses now, the things she daren't say.
Grandmother told her: never speak to ghosts.

But ghosts still whisper in her ear, as night turns into dawn.
She gets up every day. It's still a fight.
The voices that she hasn't heard in years still echo on,
the smiles she hasn't seen still shine so bright.

So she writes her lyrics, sends them out into the world.
They're set to music, then they're passed along.
Like the father that she never knew, back when she was a girl --
she wonders if he spoke to her in song.

The money they bring in is good. Pays for the home, the pills.
Her life's not bad, just lonely, all in all.
She knows this in her heart of hearts. And yet she's hoping still --
Maybe one will look their song up, see her name and call.

I'm sorry, and I love you, and I miss you.
Your friendship is the reason I'm not dead.
It was my fault. I still think about you.
I wish that I could wake up in your bed.
I wish that I had paid you back that money.
I wish like hell I'd told you that I cared.
I wish Mom had loved me best. It isn't funny --
I'm trying not to show how much I'm scared.
Call me. Anytime. Please don't forget me.
I wish I hadn't run so from your pain.
You'd have been much better off if you'd not met me.
I know that's true, but I can't say the same --
You'll never know, for I can't say, how much you meant to me.
I'd call you, but I know it's been too long.
So listen to this stranger sing my song.

Another sleepless night. Another song comes to a head.
That's good. Another mortgage payment nears.
Clock radio goes off at dawn -- she drags herself from bed,
and a stranger sings a little phrase she hasn't heard in years.

She knew he was in music, long ago. Is he out here?
She looks the song up quickly. And she's right.
It's strange to feel that surge of joy -- and then a sudden fear.
Because he'd said those very words, to her one long-past night.

She takes the phone in hand -- and then she isn't sure.
She's knows it's what she hoped her ghosts would do.
But was the ghost's song written for a stranger, meant for her?
And, if not her, who was he writing to?

I'm sorry, and I love you, and I miss you.
Your friendship is the reason I'm not dead.
It was my fault. I still think about you.
I wish that I could wake up in your bed.
I wish that I had paid you back that money.
I wish like hell I'd told you that I cared.
I wish Mom had loved me best. It isn't funny --
I'm trying not to show how much I'm scared.
Call me. Anytime. Please don't forget me.
I wish I hadn't run so from your pain.
You'd have been much better off if you'd not met me.
I know that's true, but I can't say the same --
You'll never know, for I can't say, how much you meant to me.
I'd call you, but I know it's been too long.
So listen to this stranger sing my song.
Tags: a poem every day
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