Clear Glass.

Every song that plays is about love, and I'm lying here alone. No soft whispers, no wine, no love. I think I'll poor myself a glass, and while I fall asleep, I'll pretend you're next to me.
Every song that plays is about love, and love being gone. Love being far away. Across the road, down the street, a few turns, across the sea. Every song that plays is about love being so far away from me.
I feel like I'm living in two different worlds; a dream, a reality. There's so much to do, so much to see. Why am I still here? Why does everything have to keep me here?
Can't you come rescue me, sweep me off my feet? Send me something in black ink, a ticket to. . .
Dreams, dreams. Stuck in reality. Here in the Midwest, the middle of it all. Is this hell? No, it's Iowa.
It's like you've been here, while I dream. Knowing exactly everything. Even the smallest details; your arm digging into my back. Everything I want is everything I'll never have. Because me, I never get to be happy; I never get to be free.
I'm eighty-three percent determined to make my way; just to see if you can lie to my face. I'm not a little girl anymore. A year past out the door. I'll tell you where I keep my key. I'll pretend I'm asleep.
If I had a dream boy this is what he'd be. Older, wiser, stronger, wilder. A boy with a guitar, and a song for me. Records playing constantly. Wine in the cupboard, always. Wine in my glass. Breakfast in bed. Take good care of me, hold me while I sleep. Open windows, art galleries. Fuck, Lauren, stop dreaming.
If anyone follows me, lurks me, they most know the severity of my insanity. But I've been chasing this dream since I locked lips with that first musician. I stole his scarf, he stole my heart; passed it down to someone else.
I want to scream a name and be proud of it.
And every song is about love, so love, come to me.
I'll waste away, taking sips of wine, until you find your way here.