I didn’t sleep well last night. In fact, unless you call tossing and turning for six hours sleeping, I almost didn’t sleep at all. Still in the middle of it all, I found myself staring through a screen door or a storm door. A haunting piano melody was playing behind me in another room. One of those things where I knew it was me playing, but there I was with my face pressed up against the window.
At first, I was staring at a mosquito. It seemed enormous. There was a loud slap of skin on skin and the mosquito was replaced by a hand. The hand belonged to man slapping a mosquito on his arm. He was dressed all in white with a Panama hat, sitting on the porch in front of me facing away. I didn’t know who he was.
Stretching out in front of the deck, almost as far as the eye could see was a vast field of wheat. I wanted to go running in it. I was apprehensive because I wasn’t sure if the man would let me or not, but before I could talk myself into trying, I heard my own voice begin singing over the top of the piano accompaniment. I did everything I could to hang on to it and then captured it in the morning riding in on the train.
[Here’s the music. These lyrics have already changed and are a work in progress…. haha, kinda like me! working on something for YouTube, might be a while]
A blue face staring through a window
Watches all God’s teardrops tumbling down
Her heart is broken
She sees its shattered pieces lying on the ground
She had a love that was almost real
She was almost happy, she was almost trusted, she was almost everything to him
It’s over and now she must heal
He said almost real was almost good enough for him… Almost
But maybe how it hurts to wish it would sometimes
It must get better
Picks up all the little pieces of her heart that she can find
She had a love that was almost heaven
She was almost safe, she was almost warm, she trusted almost everything to him
He’s gone away left her barely breathing
He said almost heaven was almost good enough for him… Almost
Pain almost forgotten
Still believes that what she had was almost perfect…
Knows that what she had was only almost perfect… Almost
I’ve written some okay poetry and I’ve written some very pretty piano music, but I’ve never written a song. Well, almost never. Leave it to my dreams to write one for me.
© 2010 Anne Schilde (including future lyrical alterations and the music)