rèver.

page & plant - blue sunday.

an:  just platonic love, two friends who care for each other really.

drugs.  oh, how i wish they never existed now.

look at what they did to you, jimmy.

a man that once had a hopeful shimmer in his eye when he listened to blues records. 

now only had empty and dialated pupils to give to the world.

we used to write songs together.  all those hours we spent just laughing at how drunk we were those nights.  at how youthful we were.

it seems as if i'd do anything to have you back.

not the bloke who wandered around town, a girl who shouldn't even be out, wrapped around you.  you wouldn't even remember her in the next few hours.

not the man with emeralds for eyes who could barely hold his guitars anymore.

not the person i fell in love with who put himself at the brink of death each night.

we used to enjoy each other's company.  lavendar insence would burn throughout your house, making you and your sweaters look much more comfortable.

what about now?  what do you do to relax besides dope yourself up into the next era?

do you even truly relax?  do you even change out of that damn poppy suit? 

yet, everytime you call, pain and desperation in your tone, i can't help but submit.

the heart wrenching cries and complaints about everything you've done.  how you wish you never did any of this to yourself.  just to put more and more into your system the same night.  since the pleasure conquered the pain, right?

the amount of nights you walked into my hotel room, barely able to stand.  your legs unstable and your sleeves rolled up.  nose red and dry, forehead damp.

i'd take care of you, make sure you would rest somewhat nicely that night.  i ordered you tea, let you wear my sweaters you found so much comfort in, and god knows what else.

i tried holding on to you for as long as i could've.

but how could i hold onto a hand that never fit mine?