It's a sad song, made all the sadder by Bruce Hornsby's mournful piano accompaniment, and Raitt's authentic cry from the heart. Lay down with me, tell me no lies
Just hold me close, don't patronise...
Morning will come and I'll do what's right
Just give me till then to give up this fight
And I will give up this fight...
"Of course, you're too young to have heard of her," my friend said, when I asked him who the singer is. "Bonnie Raitt. She had struggled for years, played in one honky-tonk joint too many, and drunk far too much. But she's finally gotten her due recognition. She won a Grammy for the song, and maybe for her album too," He said. There were tears in my eyes. Me and my soft heart, and yet I could not give him love. Instead I gave my friendship, and I gave it with gratitude, tenderness and sadness. That was long time ago. Time has passed. Today I will write about my love who finally left me. You may not have heard of him because I didn't write much about him except for a prose and a poem. I decided for him to be as furtive as that phantom of my days, because what we had was a clandestine love affair. I met him late August last year through
one of the most bizarre ways of meeting people, which is just one of my pit stops. I invited him for coffee and it was followed by a countless other rendezvous over coffee, poetry and philosophy. Then we realized there was love. And I loved him, and it got deeper as days passed. Yes, it was great, and I told myself that it was different. Indeed it was different. He is different. The guy I am talking about is one of the most complex, mysterious and intriguing personalities I've ever encountered in my lifetime. He is as elusive as mercury. As passionately as he would return my kisses that rainy season to new year. He is a boy and a man at the same time. Sometimes I think that what we had was part of the interlude between his Holden Caulfied days and the more serious endeavors of adulthood to come. Thus with him, I'd often venture beyond the surface of life and of love. It was a love that made me whole. He was my unquantified joys. And yes, it was blissful, even just to talk with him. A number of times I tried to simplify his personality but he always escaped me. A number of times I tried to write about my love for him but words always fell short. And one of the many attempts are these lines: I can write a thousand poems for you, about you, just to feed my love. I can cry a river to let flow unwanted shell-feelings but your touch streams down to my sea amid strong winds and perturbed waves.
But it can never go beyond what I feel for you.
He was one of the many reasons for my forced writer's block. And I was convinced of the theory of the non-existence of "real profundity" in writing. And he hasn't done anything yet but to sit in front of me and leave the rest of him for me to analyze. But i remain bewildered, astounded at this simple being who shares the coffee table with me and yet there is more about him that I can never comprehend. He is like the many wonders that bestrew my midst all at the same time. Being with him is like surfing channels on TV without knowing what I am exactly looking for. Love was in the air all the time until things got complicated because our status stayed afloat. And he could not even assure. The reason is complicated. Well, it got worse when people started to ask me about him. "Nah, someone special," so I'd answer to them. Then it grew to "Just a pseudo-bf," to "Ah, him? He's the love of my life." But I questioned his intentions and I nagged him for reasons behind the lack of assurance. He gave me reasons, but I refused to accept them. He became dizzy for me, and he'd often say NO every time
I'd ask him to take me. Each time he did, I pulled away from him. And I was convinced that there will never be a time for moony eyes and vows of undying devotion for us. So each time, we'd fight for the same reason. And each time, i'd leave...
Please join StudyMode to read the full document