chasing pavement ...

... by Adele ...

I've made up my mind,
Don't need to think it over,
If i'm wrong I am right,
No need to look no further,
This ain't lust,
I know this is love.

But,
If i tell the world,
I'll never say enough,
Cause it was not said to you,
And thats exactly what i need to do,
If i'm in love with you.

Should I give up,
Or should I just keep chasing pavements?
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste?
Even If i knew my place,
should i leave it there?

I'd build myself up,
And fly around in circles,
Wait then as my heart drops,
and my back begins to tingle
finally could this be it ...

Should i give up,
Or should i just keep chasing pavements?
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste?
Even If i knew my place,
should i leave it there?

But beautiful ...

... a song by Carmen McRae ... I read the lyrics from a book, but was unable to find the song ...

Love is funny or it's sad
Or it's quiet or it's mad,
It's a good thing or it's bad -
But beautiful.

Beautiful to take a chance
And if you fall you fall
And I'm thinking I wouldn't mind at all
Love is tearful or it's gay
It's a problem or it's play
It's heartache either way -
But beautiful.

And I'm thinking if you were mine
I'd never let you go
And that would be but beautiful
I know.

Letting go ...

... is probably one of the hardest things to do ... something out of reach, like a shining star. Part of you feels that if only you can master it, the whole universe is in your hand ...

It can be a person, a patient, a place, a job, a memory ... sometimes, in the process of letting go, you discover some long forgotten places; maybe the star is still 10 millions light years away, but you have experienced the coolness of a summer night in catching it ...

... letting go means trusting it in a more capable hands than yours, and ultimately, in God's ...

What I miss about you ...

... by Katie Meula

Missing the train every morning at 8:52,
Sipping coffee from the same cup as you.
The sharing of secrets we thought no one else knew,
That's what I miss about you.

The new way that love had made me see,
Your bashful grin when you asked if I would like your key.
The knowing way you used to caress me,
That's what I miss about you.

You stole in with your starry smile exciting me,
Driving with you in your new car, feeling free.
If it's true that love is blind, then I was blind willingly,
You made me feel we had a future, that could be and would be.

The way you said I'd be no one on my own,
Your habit of soaking yourself in over-priced cologne.
The way you turned the light out when I knew you were home,
That's what I don't miss about you.

I bet you're using your weary magic like it's new,
Driving so fast with a new fool beside you.
Presumably believing she's the last of the lucky few,
I wonder if she knows she's being lied to like I do.

The way I only doubted myself when I was with you,
Like I was a fool for expecting something from life too.
Your skill of putting me down in-front of everyone we knew,
That's what I don't miss about you

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night ...

by Dylan Thomas ...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Interpretation

Somewhere within your loving look I sense,
Without the least intention to deceive,
Without suspicion, without evidence,
Somewhere within your heart the heart to leave.
~ Vikram Seth

Variation on the theme love ...

... an interesting interpretation by Margaret Atwood, as you would expect ...

This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.