These half-sent signals, telling us our senseless ceilings?
Every word they say is true.
 
We laughed at certainty, but believed in distance.
We kept our caution in a jar labeled Tonight We Leave Here.
 
This is why we thought we knew: we had plans lined with numbers.
Adding them always leads to you.
 
We laughed at monuments, but believed in history;
mistrusted consequence, but kept these pictures of us in a car.
 
When your ways to ever after run through forests set to drown,
the roads don't even pass through this town.
 
We said we wanted this, but never made the time to hold it.
We are the dissidents, but then who will be the authors of these vows?
 
These half-sent signals, half heard, a quarter understood:
every word another dream.
 
It's a lesson taught in runes, a tour mapped in ruins,
a complicated way to say all these things that should be simple.
 
But this happiness overflows, this hopeless reeling.
We are the permanent decay of every fleeting feeling.
 
All these steps along the way, this road we wandered,
the water rising in our shoes, you dancing dawnlit --
 
All we left along the way, back roads that still don't come here,
this city shouting us to sleep, the relentless rush of morning --
 
But this time it's perfect. This moment knows our secrets.
Temptation singing us awake, and heartbreak leaving us to die.
 
We were the archetypes of what we thought we hated,
but what we promised to become.
 
You can't make destiny, they say, out of words on endless paper,
but only we can say when we have won.
 
 
[Never enough noises for a year of quiet. A few hours in GarageBand on a rare day alone.]