6:44/7:41 and I've all but figured out Daydreaming on the piano, but in my own arrangement. Slower, more plodding. Spoken words, changed to fit the moment.
The moment being arms outstretched, pushing back spring in favour of hibernating. Instead of cherry blossoms it's a chill, an endless shiver in my bones and yet when I try to cry out to tell them it hurts, greywater pours out of my mouth, my eyes, my ears. It never stops raining and I swim up against the swirling blossoms as they crush underneath the droplets, pink ruin that distracts you from my death.
It's not working.
It's not working at all.
All I hear is Caleb singing I Promise under his breath, as he lies in the half-light, his arm looped lazily around my neck, loosely unless I try to move or shift and then it tightens involuntarily, akin to trying to nap with a toddler. You're half awake and with all these checks and balances in the form of touch in case they move away.
To keep them out of trouble.
To keep them safe.
To keep them close.
I can feel the razor burn warmth on the back of my neck and shoulders, no teeth marks this time but a brain-mark in which the scars are deep and permanent and yet I can't let go.
I need to keep him out of trouble.
I need to keep him safe, keep him close.
But it's slower, and more plodding and it's been so many years the arrangement has changed a thousand times and yet the song remains the same. A lament disguised as a pop song, a tonic that briefly eclipses the panic behind my eyes as I drown, and he lets me.