Snapshot of a tiny apartment on the top floor of a built in the late 1920's apartment. There was a wall-sized poster of The Cure in the bedroom. We bought it in this store in Berkeley during one of our many trips up the coast. I remember holding it, all rolled up and sticking out awkwardly, as we road the Bart underwater. You taught yourself how to play this song on your acoustic guitar, the one I gave you for your birthday, the one you once said you'd teach me to play on.
We didn't bother buying a television because we had so much music between the two of us. Some nights we would shut off all the lights, pull the shades down, lie on the floor side-by-side and just let the music wash over us. We would trade lists of favourite songs from bands we both loved, and this one was top on both of ours. This was back when things were good between us, when we recognized our common ground and appreciated our differences.
I heard that after I left you played this in that coffee house, open mic night, and said it was for me. Strange as you would have never told me any of that yourself, not then, and probably not ever. Music speaks volumes of otherwise unsaid sentiments though, I suppose.
I think this song would still make my list of favourites from The Cure, though I know I have others, so many others.
"Say goodbye on a night like this,
if it's the last thing we ever do;
you never looked as lost as this,
sometimes it doesn't even look like you.
It goes dark,
it goes darker still,
please stay.
But I watch you like I'm made of stone,
as you walk away."
you never looked as lost as this,
sometimes it doesn't even look like you.
It goes dark,
it goes darker still,
please stay.
But I watch you like I'm made of stone,
as you walk away."
Seeing them this past Sunday at Coachella was amazing. I think I'm still taking it in, still feeling it, and still remembering.
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