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Yeah . . .
Stranger: Before I let you go, can you tell me something?
Of course :)
Stranger: What ever happened to that not-so-suicide note that started all of this?
Ha . . . the song?
Stranger: It was a song?
The beginning of one, yes.
Stranger: . . . were those all songs?
My cheeks burned with heat as I quickly tapped on the screen.
Songs and poems, yes . . .
Stranger: So did you finish it?
I blinked slowly as I realized I couldn’t even think of anything to say about my nights with Ben other than what I’d already said. I’d been thinking about those nights for years before I finally allowed myself to write about them, and then my Stranger came and made me wonder why I was still waiting for a guy who wasn’t even alive to love me.
Actually, no. I’d forgotten about it with our notes and everything.
Stranger: Are you saying my words can make you forget? ;)
Stranger: Are you going to?
Yes. That’s exactly what I was saying. I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought, then finally responded.
Ha ha. I’m not sure. I thought I had an entire song about what I was for him, and what he never was for me—but now I’m not so sure.
I flew up to a sitting position on the couch, and glanced back up at the window. The sky now a mixture of pinks, purples, and oranges.
Stranger: He didn’t deserve a song anyway
Hold on. I’ll be back with something, but then I really need to get ready for work.
I ran through the warehouse and tiptoed into my room, and snatched my notebook up before running back out to the couch. I flipped to the first clean page since our notes had taken up so much of the others, quickly wrote out what had been Ben’s song, and then added a little bit below. Once it was done, I took a picture and sent it to Stranger.
Who listens to your sad songs
The shoulder that you cry on
Out on that ledge you walk on
When you’re sinking
Who keeps your secrets locked up
When there’s no one you can trust
I know it’s much more than just wishful thinking
Just say the words and you know I’ll be there
You can’t believe it’s daylight
