How to Avoid Saying what you Mean 101

Can't shake the feeling that I was supposed to fall in love with you
But we got the timing all wrong and our syncopated rhythm
Has been stuck on repeat in my head for too long to bear.
I coulda sworn you had meant much more to me just a little while ago
But time has a way of blurring the edges of memory
And the echo of whispered dreams
Has been lost like the loose-leaf pages of the hearts I have wanted to touch,
Snatched away by a poorly timed gust of wind.
Hold me if you want me but don't you dare claim my love belongs to you.

Loose-leaf sheets travel lazily on the breeze
Carrying the music I had once meant to play
Off to someone who might hopefully give it the dedication I couldn't muster.
I have jealously eyed hands more talented than mine
Wishing I could make beauty out of these tiny useless things
But the most I could ever manage was an octave
And some songs just don't tear up your heart the same way
if you switch from first to third inversion.
I was frantically trying to hammer out prestissimo
Because I didn't realize everyone has always loved me
for my bravura a capriccio.
Music always sounds better when it's played from the performer's desire
And I could show Tantalus a thing or two about desire.
Because I've got an impending hand surgery
that means that I may never play this piece again
So I've released the sheet music to the breeze
In the hopes that it will land in more capable hands than mine
And I've been trying to forget the happiness that the music once brought me
So that the silence might hurt less.
But I can't imagine forgetting pouring every ounce of pain and misery into Musique pour la Tristesse de Xion
And leaving that pain behind on the keys-
Who am I going to turn to when you're gone?

Like tantalus and the eternal stream that dries up just as he reaches out to it,
I've been drinking sea water and puzzling over my seemingly unquenchable thirst.
This is my promise to you -
I will turn tail and run as soon as this gets too serious.
You've mistaken me for the reliable type
And I can see where you might have gotten confused back there,
I played you a serenade in the hopes that some part of you would reach out to me
And when you do I will dry up like the stream
And drift away into the evanescent fog of
An uncertain future where I can't recall the taste of your name
So don't bother calling after me when I leave
Because this self-sabotage has inadvertently fueled the most resonant, haunting melodies I've ever managed.
We could make art together, you and I, in the spaces between us.
But that's going to require

spaces

between us.