I see the bare moon,
 Raise his big bald head
 I see my friends play the fool,
 I'll make my own way, In the wide world
Just know I don't want to wander too far...

Even the stars,
 Sometimes fade to gray,
 Even the stars, Hideaway


Some call me
 All kinds of names, 
 Some say I don't play the right kind of game,
 I try to be honest, I try to be kind
and honestly leave when I know that it's time...I know that it's time




Hear a phoebe sing his only song
The summer's day is hovering

I'll write my full heart
Troubles fly like embers

Out the windows of our traveling car


Even the stars, Sometimes fade to gray, Even the stars...Hideaway...

...

And all the gold dust in her eyes won’t reform into rain , You had and lost the one thing, You kept in a safe place, Remember the face, Of the girl who made you her own, And how you left her alone 


The voice cuts through the dark night like the scalpel through the skin. The words are undecipherable but the tone comes across with a clarity, loud and grating like a bone saw. I roll over, hoping it was just a dream and the words were not coming from the next room. That tone comes again and again, as if it were pulling back layer and layer of skin and muscle, pushing through the ribcage, past more muscles to the precious pericardium. And there, in the silence lies the softly beating heart. Mine lays nearly silent to try and catch the topic of angry discussion. Hers has shut down, left beaten and bruised with word after angry word from the angry tone. 


The heart is a fragile thing. One that most protect with all of their strength. We add walls and fences, and yet sometimes we let ourselves become vulnerable with another. One that we love. We share our deepest darkest secrets. The ones that have never been voiced before., our struggles and failures. The wounds that still hurt after years and years of impartial healing.


Sometimes that vulnerability, in the heat of the moment is used against us like a finger jabbing an already tender wound. Our secrets are turned around to be hurtful. Hurtful in a multitude of ways. The kind that hurt because one has not healed and because the one we love uses purposely against us. 


How does one decide when to cut out the one that knows us the best? When is enough enough? When does she allow her heart to beat again? Who will shock her partitioned heart back to normalcy?  Keeping it from it's impending death? When do her eyes open to the reality of the situation? When does the tone turn into one of healing and comfort? 


After a few more rounds, the tone cuts through the night one last time. One last final word, the last peak before the flatline.... 
and then,...simply silence.... 


And if you burn the road that’ll lead you back to her in time, I'll watch you turn to stone, She’s moving on without you...

Somethin' gotta give with the way I'm livin', Seems I'm gettin' down everyday, The more I strive, the less I'm alive, And seems i'm gettin' further away...


When can you decide enough is enough. When is quitting something, not giving up but more of a moving on? Can I let everyone down? Is there something better?

I've been here since April. It's about time for me to move on, but there are so many people who will be heartbroken. Do I give up my happiness for them? Who decides?

How can I be so uncomfortable with this accepted normal. With the stagnant? With the stuck.

I feel like everyday I dig myself a little deeper and deeper into this hole. How do I get out? And when I do, where do I go?

And am I just running away?


...I've been goin' joggin' in the park after dark, Draggin' 'round with me my ball and chain, Took southern skies  to make me realize That I'm causin' myself this pain, 


Hey, you better figure it out now
You know you ain't comin' back down, yeah
You better figure it out now
You know you ain't comin' back down...