Ghost Story

How was I ever supposed to say the things I thought you knew,

In those times when it was so hard to whisper impossible shades of sunset blue?

What was I ever supposed to do when those truths were mine to say?

Those fateful things I meant to mean so much, only to watch them fade away.

I told myself the honest lies that I could be a timeless friend,

I’d stand in the tide that rose so high for the sake of that loveless end.

The man I want to be could be the flickering flame you knew,

And I thought I might be strong enough to burn a smoking wick for you.

But I don’t think I am.

I wish I was the man I was in all the dreams I’ve had,

That ended when I woke so lost in the world I didn’t choose, instead.

But that’s not how the heartbreak works that fills a life with smoke,

It snuffs all things with factory smog and hangs high a noose on which to choke.

Maybe that’s too bitter and honestly? I’m probably just a fool,

I know the simple sounding complex things I say and how they’ll sound to you.

Because you’ll never fully grasp the weight these desperate words could hold,

And I’m trying to cross a dead end bridge with empty hands to pay the toll.

It’s a tragic thing to know the truth, that I know how this story ends,

I’ve read the pages all my life and never cheated in reading ahead.

But maybe then it would’ve been different, maybe I could change what’s etched in stone,

But that is just a child’s hope, a fool’s false gold, that lives where I cannot go.

There’s a poster in the theater now, but it’s not for us to share,

The seat I’ll save remains empty for the ghost I wish was there.

But she’s doomed to be a memory and even I know that must be true,

A memory of all that never was, was never mine, and the ghost that wasn’t you.