Never thought I’d drown in another woman’s eyes
Sweet like peaches, like syrup, like blueberry pie
Let me bask in this world
I don’t want to say goodbye
Sweet like strawberries, vanilla, a bottle of cheap wine
Your touch stirred me back to life
Please don’t ever make me say goodbye
Maybe I needed to venture out on my own
Maybe I’m looking for a new place to call home
When I’m with you, everything makes sense
All the noise quiets, I don’t need a defense
You make me feel like my past is just that
Like the future we could make is more than I’ve ever had
Sweet like peaches, like syrup, like blueberry pie
Let me bask in this world
I don’t want to say goodbye
Sweet like strawberries, vanilla, a bottle of cheap wine
Your touch stirred me back to life
Please don’t ever make me say goodbye
It needs another verse, but as I finish writing everything down, a chill runs up my spine. The same chill I get whenever I write something that has real meaning for me, words that are raw and honest. I can feel how this song will resonate with people, because it resonates with me.
Maybe some of my fans won’t want to hear a song like this from me, and maybe some of them will. But I know there will be people somewhere out there who appreciate it. For the first time, I’m realizing that maybe I could reach an entirely new set of fans with my music.
If I’m brave enough to take it in this new direction.
If my label allows me to.
If I’m willing to invite in all the public scrutiny that comes with it.
But I’ve never been safe from public scrutiny. The critics and haters have always scrutinized me for my dating life. For all the men I’ve supposedly dated and been unable to keep. Whether they dump me or I dump them, it’s somehow always my fault. Many people have suggested that there must be something wrong with me if I’ve gone through so many breakups.
I guess if they’re going to scrutinize and judge me, I might as well let them judge me for the truth. Rather than judge me for a long string of failed relationships in my twenties—some of which weren’t even real—they can go ahead and judge me for growing if they want to. For realizing who I am, and for loving a woman.
Er. Well.
Notloving. But being with.
Potentially loving. Maybe, possibly, someday.
If I let myself, and if Addison lets me... then yeah, I’m pretty sure I could fall in love with her.
