[krash in-too mee]: This was written from the point of view from a boyfriend who wants his girlfriend back. In the song he says “I watch you there through the window,” which is basically saying that he’s watching and looking at how beautiful she is.
She did not look like much, but to him he was her everything.
Her long gangly arms that flopped on the side of her like two lifeless spaghetti strings. To him they were the long arms that she could feel around his wast when she would see him after being away for a day, or a few hours.
Her grey eyes did not look that the ocean, or shine like a jade. They looked like a cloudy day in November. They were dark on the edges and looked as though rain was on the horizon and would drain of water if she would start to cry.
“I would be the Earth below,” he would silently mumble to himself as he looked at her in those eyes.
Her nose was not perfect, but crooked on the side. He loved how her glasses hang of the side when she did not have her contacts in.
“I think you are perfect,” he would silently mumble while he would stare at her face.
Her lips were small and thin like two pieces of paper on top of each other. Un coloured and plain, but to him he saw a masterpiece that was only worth of a Greek goddess.
She was small, her body and breasts were all in one straight line like a piece of new wood that has been sawed off of a tree. It smelled like the forrest and her hips stuck out like the pieces of bark that laid on the other side of her board like body.
He longed to rub his hands up and down her body. To put his lips on hers, and to look into those grey eyes just one last time.
He dreamed of the young lust of two bodies entwined. Her arms and stilt like legs wrapped around him when she would jump on him into a fit of laughter while falling onto the bed.
Her breath blowing in his ear while she would whisper how much she loved him in the middle of the night.
He pretended to be asleep, but heard every word.
He thinks about the first time he met her. Riding on the midnight train. She sat next to him and mumbled while slowly elbowing him;
“Pretend we are together, there are a lot of undesirables on this train,”
He adored how she spoke like someone who was 90 years old. Throwing out words like confetti that no one ever uses anymore.
They spoke for hours on that train riding from one side of the city to the other.
“Do you want to have one last breakfast?” she asked him.
It was early in the morning now right before all of the commuters would climb on the same train. It would be washed away from all of the nights darkness and insanity and now be filled with businessmen in suits.
They ate breakfast. Him the ham and eggs and her the stack of pancakes.
He watched her as she slowly spread her butter on the top of the fluffy cloud like breakfast food.Her long youthful hands working the knife back and forth like a painter colouring a wall. She the clutched the syrup and decorated the pancakes with syrup like an artist.
They talked for hours and this is how it all began. This was their love story.
Time went by. Winter with hand walking in the snow and fires in the fireplace. The spring watching the leaves slowly grow on the trees that were once coved in snow. Even their vacation, driving a car through the south. Living in humidity where just walking down the street would bring rain drops on your forehead.
They listened to blues in Memphis.
Jazz in New Orleans.
Country in Nashville.
They chased alligators and watch the sun set in the cool forrest of Alabama.
Her with her grey eyes and spaghetti arms and him with the light in his eyes that sparkled on a clear night outside the city lights.
It felt perfect. He went around with that little box in his jacket, in his drawer and hidden in the closet waiting for the right moment.
That moment. The monumental moment that would be a part of who he is. All he wanted to be was her husband. Just her husband.
They went to a concert one night. Some local blues band at a bar they attended quiet often. A bar with a wooden bar that was full of scuff marks and rings from beer bottles. The tables are old, the chairs are uncomfortable, but it is worth it. The blues music that screams through the air makes it all an experience these two star crossed lovers never pass by.
They rode the midnight train together sitting closely and giggling and talking about the night and what had been of it.
“Do you want to go have breakfast?” she asked him.
And they went. He ordered the eggs and ham and her the pancakes. He could watch her a million times doing her pancake ritual. The spreading of the butter, the single drop of syrup that fell onto the pancake. It was like heaven to him.
He slowly reached into his pocket and left the box on the table.
“Is this what I think t is?” she asked with her grey eyes and no smile on her lips.
“Well.. do you want to? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?” he said
She looked at him and put her small elbows on the table. She looked at him with clouds brewing in her eyes. She slowly opened her paper like lips and muttered the words.
“I love you… but it is over,” she said while pushing the box in front of him and walking out the door.
He walked the city and she cleaned out the apartment. It is better to do this without making a mess she thought.
She was preparing for this for sometime. She found the ring weeks ago, and knew that all she wanted was not to be his wife. That it would make her the least thing she wanted to be, his wife.
He laid himself on the cold wooden floor of their apartment and looked for signs of her, but the only thing he could find was a picture of them from their vacation together on the wall.
He had only one thing to do, he walked the streets and followed the light. He would look at her from below her window, wanting her back, watching her.
Wishing that he was back on that midnight train again.