Music in the Making

Pools of people surround us. I wanted water.
People like you and me need inspiration. Open air. Room to sing is room to breath.
And we deserve to run away if we want to... For a little while, in our minds.
And when we come back it's blueberry muffins in a graveyard, swinging our legs.
How we end up fighting because I know how to get under your skin.
And also, how you're my best friend and there's no one who I'd rather fry eggs for or fight with over stupid things.
I like guitars and I like chicken pie. And I like you. And I love you too. Like the Grand Canyon and the mixture of your music notes.
So, we'll get what we want if we want it hard enough. We'll still have our love in the end.
And I want to write a story about all these stories in my head. Lies or reincarnation?
A story about our long walks. Lime and beef tacos. When it's so cold that we have to wrap our bodies around each other just to stay alive.
And I know that I'm hoping that we'll holding onto that feeling. Of alive. Of drunk nights and knowing that the world was ours.
Holding each others hands because we were better together.
I want us to remember that. Even if we're never in the same place again. I want us to remember new ways to love the same way we loved the old ways.
Cold night air. I've been here before with you.
And I remember walking at night to meet you, a knife in my pocket. The lights of our small town were guardians. And I might cry because of how much I loved you.