I'm trying to write our own love story, but the words seem to be disappearing tonight. It's not their fault, when they get lost in the music. I've been lost in the music before too -- the music of your love. But it got too loud and I'm losing my tempo then I realized that this is not my music anymore.
I hear the whole notes, the half notes. the eight notes and the sixteenth notes. Then I hear the bass pounding directly within my heart and then the high sopranos and middle altos. They mix together to make a tune that I hear inside my head. It's tickling my senses and I feel it in my heart. Maybe that's what they called love.
And now, I've lost that love and said goodbye to the reasons we had in the first place, when empathy was on our sides. And somewhere, I got lost in the past where you are.
So tonight I wrote a new story to be last on my heart. I'm taking back sunday. That day -- when writing a word was easy; I could taste your lips and I could draw you near through my pen. Everything I thought just made more sense. In this dreary night I wrote on my heart.
"Dear heart,
I'm so sorry if you're always got hurt --
What could I do? I'm still in love."
You should have heard my heart's displeasure. What am I to do when I keep falling in love? It's a trick of the heart, not the mind. I had no control. I'm totally lost. My eyes are burning and my throat's getting scratchy, just listening to the music of memories in my head.
The whole world is laughing. I'm starting to get bitter at how it laughs everytime I try to make a new statement of myself. Bitter with all the thoughts that made it as a right to laugh with all the mistakes that I've made. Bitter that I had forgotten I couldn't write music, only words. I was lost in your art -- music, not mine. And I'd forgotten what my art is all about; the pen, the ink, the paper and my mind.
I hear the whole notes, the half notes. the eight notes and the sixteenth notes. Then I hear the bass pounding directly within my heart and then the high sopranos and middle altos. They mix together to make a tune that I hear inside my head. It's tickling my senses and I feel it in my heart. Maybe that's what they called love.
And now, I've lost that love and said goodbye to the reasons we had in the first place, when empathy was on our sides. And somewhere, I got lost in the past where you are.
So tonight I wrote a new story to be last on my heart. I'm taking back sunday. That day -- when writing a word was easy; I could taste your lips and I could draw you near through my pen. Everything I thought just made more sense. In this dreary night I wrote on my heart.
"Dear heart,
I'm so sorry if you're always got hurt --
What could I do? I'm still in love."
You should have heard my heart's displeasure. What am I to do when I keep falling in love? It's a trick of the heart, not the mind. I had no control. I'm totally lost. My eyes are burning and my throat's getting scratchy, just listening to the music of memories in my head.
The whole world is laughing. I'm starting to get bitter at how it laughs everytime I try to make a new statement of myself. Bitter with all the thoughts that made it as a right to laugh with all the mistakes that I've made. Bitter that I had forgotten I couldn't write music, only words. I was lost in your art -- music, not mine. And I'd forgotten what my art is all about; the pen, the ink, the paper and my mind.
