"Where do you go when you're sad?"
"I walk in my dreams...
I walk the streets of the old home I once had. Standing under the street lights the whole night. I stand there remembering, toilets, the smell of our secret garden, pictures, the first sight of rock music, soda coins, the taste of coke in your mouth, laughter, clouds, the song from birds and the color of the sky. Remembering memories we made and had.
I walk the old path, dirty and beautiful, the path from my childhood, through the big and dark forest. Climbing the tree they cut down, sitting there reading until faeries fly me away, down into my bed. Waiting for the sweet moment you had in store for me. Reading old notes from a back pocket.
I sit alone with flowers in my hair, watching the view, watching. Then I close my eyes. I feel the cold hard stone under me, I feel the marks of peoples hopes and dreams carved into the bench. "We fight until we die", "we are so fairytale it makes people sick", I love him", "I love her", for ever this for ever that, words that will disappear. I bring back old friends. I drink and make amends. With myself and everyone I know.
Then I will dance, all alone in the pouring rain, but everywhere I turn, still, people stare at me. I move, to dance all alone in my basement, but it's so cold in my basement, my skin feels so bad. Like a drowned American highway that constantly has to bear the weight of other people. Sour rain tearing me down.
I play my guitar in my room or my piano at the attic. I play by all heart and means, but I can't get the tunes that are in my head, down to my fingers. I post pictures on my wall, that I know I will tear down. I do things I never would have. I sit in that meadow with him. My fingers caressing his veins. His heart and his sins. I think of electric shocks. Then I run, until I can't feel the highway on my skin.
I see the sunset and the moon. I touch all the walls and I walk across all the bridges that we have made. Under the bridge there is water, and sad memories. The sand by the shore is made of old lovers diaries. Out in the sea sits a curly haired boy, playing the tunes in my head. Because when I am sad, he comes to me."
"Where do you go when you're happy?"
"I stay there..."
