The way you feel when you're listening to your favorite song or favorite band.

The way some songs make you want to sing for the whole world to hear, even if you don't usually like to.

The way a song gets stuck in your head and leaves you thinking about it all day.

The way the birds chirp on a sunlight-filled day, or the way the crickets chirp on an ebony night lit by the luminous moon.

The way it feels when someone listens to that song that you reccommended to them, and the way it feels when they say they like it, too.

The way a song fills you to the brim with boiling excitement and ecstacy, or the way a song pulls tenderly at your heartstrings.

The way you feel when you hear your favorite show or video game's themesong or soundtrack.

The way you feel when you listen to your favorite singer's unique and lovely voice weave to you tales of anything and everything.

The way you feel when that instrument you've been working so hard to master makes a pleasant sound, or the way that song you've been practicing finally falls together.

The way you feel listening to good music.

I took your photographs

I threw them in the trash

Took all your old things, too

And burned it all to ash

Do you still wanna ask

For yet another chance?

There's something that you won't ever let go

Something you can never let go

You made so many oaths

Too many promises

But came up penniless

And now you're just a ghost

But you said you'd bring a dime

And I believed you every time

Well there's something that you can never let go

Something you should never let show

Something I've already let go

(chorus)

Let go, let go

Can't you see I've moved on?

Let go, let go

You're no good to me now

I'd rather spend life alone

Than be with you and feel another spark

Now you gotta let go

Of my heart

I took your photographs

I threw them to the side

Took all your so-called friends

to our old spot outside

I kissed them all goodbye

To get you off of my mind.

(added verse)

You took my dignity

All my precious pride

And I had an epiphany

'Bout what's wrong with life

And you still wonder why

I hide when you're nearby.

There's something you can never let go

There's something I shouldn't ever let show

Something I should've let go

(chorus)

Let go, let go

Can't you see I've moved on?

Let go, let go

You're no good for me now

I'd rather spend life alone

Than be with you and feel another spark

So you gotta let go

of my heart

(instrumental section)

There's something that you won't ever let go

Something you should never let show

Something you'll never let go

(added, final verses)

I took your photographs

Threw them all in a box

Blocked you on every app

Cause you won't leave my thoughts

You've got me all tied up

Was torture what you sought?

You stole my friends away

Took my sanity, too

But I guess that's just an average day

A normal evening for you

After all you put me through,

you think I'll forgive you?

(brief instrumental/build up; in the original song, this is the bridge between the 2nd and 3rd chorus)

Something you can never let go

Something you shouldn't ever let show

Something I didn't let go

Something I couldn't let go

(chorus)

Let go, let go

Can't you see I've moved on?

Let go, let go

You're no good for me now

I'd rather spend life alone

Than be with you and feel another spark

Now you gotta let go

Let go, let go

Can't you see I've moved on?

Let go, let go

You're no good for me now

I'd rather spend life alone

Than be with you and feel another spark

Now, just gotta let go

Gotta let go

Gotta let go

Gotta let go

Of your heart.

i tell the cinnamon my secrets

it listens and tells me it loves me and

it'll be okay

and finally

i rise again,

finding that there's

worlds to conquer.

but when there's cinnamon there's an

ache in that pretty little head

of yours.

but when there's cinnamon,

there's you,

engulfing me in a soft embrace

and gingerly brushing my hand with

your tender fingers

and entangling me in a warm forest

with the vines of that pretty hair of yours.

cinnamon,

that pile of delicious dust,

slows my heart and

gently liberates that clogged river

flowing freely,

dripping from my chin to

the cold floor beneath.

and i know you'll wrinkle that cute

little nose at the mention of

cinnamon,

and i know in spite of it all,

when i stand in the shadow

of night with the

pale light of

early morning creeping through the

curtains,

clutching desperately a jar of

cinnamon

against my chest,

i'll be warmed with the

presence of you.

admiration

+ ambition =

expectation =

omission

uncertainty

+ terror =

catastrophy +

dream killer

aspiration

- nerve =

desperation

+ yearning =

hopeless

+ burning +

aching +

breaking =

pain.

Another night slowly closes in, and so does the loneliness. It's a deep and endless pit in my gut that makes me feel nauseous, and it certainly doesn't help that this particular night is freezing. I wrap the blanket around my body tightly, letting the warmth gradually thaw at my chilled skin. The T.V drones on in the background, playing some tacky sitcom with a laughtrack that plays at any possible moment that could be defined as quirky. I never liked it; the charm of laughtrack sitcoms never quite reached my heart. But you loved them, for whatever reason, so on frigid nights like this we'd curl up on the couch and watch those awful shows. I close my eyes, listening to the characters make those god-awful jokes that warrant laughs from the crowd, and I pretend that you still hold me, that the heat on my skin is generated by you and not because of the blanket I wear. And I know it's pathetic. It's painstakingly childish, but I don't think I care if anyone calls me a fool or embarrassingly desperate anymore. I don't think I care much about anything these days, except for you.

I lay there for an hour or two, just listening to the commericals on the T.V and those shows that I hate, indulging myself in the delusion of your presence, before sitting up. The blanket falls from my shoulders, inviting the freezing air to touch my warm skin. I set my feet down on the cold wooden floors, and try to stand. I think I'm able to do it, but barely; my knees tremble, and black dots flood my vision. I feel nauseous, sick to my stomach, and so dizzy that the only thing keeping me from tipping over is my hand which holds onto the armrest of the couch. I blink a few times, to banish those floating dots that cloud my sight, and sigh. I let go of the armrest, feeling confident enough to stand, and decide to push my luck by shuffling over to the T.V to turn it off. My neglected stomach howls, and I check the clock. 4:12 A.M. I don't recall ever eating today- maybe that's why I feel so terrible. I just kept putting it off, never quite in the mood to eat, not that I was even busy. My days are filled with nothing more than work on the weekdays and doing absolutely nothing productive on the weekends. I walk to the kitchen, my feet barely making any noise on cold floor, and I open the fridge. The dingy light flickers on when I open it, and I stare at the contents. The shelves are near empty, save for the scarce bottles of vodka and beer. I make a mental note to run to the store and get some more whenever I can make the time (which is conveniantly always.) My eyes go over a bag of leftover pizza, orange juice, eggs, ketchup, pudding, and...

A singular slice of birthday cake on a paper plate, covered in a sheer plastic wrap. It's so old that I could count the numerous spots of green fuzz growing on it. That's because it's from nearly 2 months ago, when I made it for you. We ate it all, with the exception of the decrepit and decaying slice in front of me. It only felt like yesterday that I was putting it in the oven and very carefully spelling out your name in baby blue icing.

Disbelief washes over me, and I can't believe you're gone. I feel like I'm losing you all over again, because this abandoned slice of cake is another reminder of the gaping, aching hole in my soul. My knees give out and I come crashing to the floor, giving in to agony and despair over that bygone piece of moldy cake.

When I see you at the market, I feel as if my lungs deflate and my heart stop, as if to spare my pitiful soul. Your hair is shiny and short. Those beautiful locks used to reach the small of your back, but now they're just grazing your shoulders. I feel myself go rigid as white-hot fear strikes my core, and I'm conflicted between running and calling to you and beg for your reconsideration, and briskly walking out of that aisle. But try as I might, I find that I can't do any of those. I'm frozen, the soles of my worn converse glued to the cream tiles of the market's floor, feeling as if I've been miraculously struck by lightning.

And then you turn your head and see me, and you also tense up. For a moment, we stand there like fools, just staring at one another, expecting the other to speak comforting words to the thick air. Then you smile that smile, and stroll towards me. I feel butterflies erupt in my sinking stomach, spreading all throughout my body, from my shaking hands to my toes, from my speedy heart to my pale face. If you notice, you're kind enough to say nothing of it.

"Funny running into you here," You say, stopping only a few feet away from me. I smile lightly, to seem like I'm not hostile, so you won't think I'm mad at you. I don't think I have the ability to, anyways.

"Yeah." I say flatly. I hold up my mini shopping cart, filled with vodka and beer, dumbly. "Ran out."

You nod slowly, a vague look of discomfort on your face. "Yeah, I'm just here running errands. How've you been? Getting enough sleep?" Your voice is gentle, as if you realized that you have to tiptoe around me as if I'm a vase on the verge of shattering. I'm surprised you notice. For a while, it felt as if I just couldn't stand up because I just kept falling apart. I managed to muster up enough strength for today, and lucky me, it's the day that you also needed to go shopping.

"Good. I've been good," I lie. The dark bags under my eyes tell a different story. "Crazy work hours, though. Haven't been getting a whole lot of sleep."

"Oh." You say. "Well, you know work. Hectic. You should take some time to take care of yourself, you know. I've taken up yoga recently. It really helps me destress sometimes." I can smell that perfume you love so much from where I stand: pineapple and coconut. I feel like puking.

"Yeah." I say, and I leave it at that. We stand there, rigid in each other's presence for a few more minutes before you decide to break the silence.

"Listen...I'm not really thrilled with how we left things off. I was thinking that maybe we could talk it over, and you could at least get some...um, consolation. I just hate to see you like this."

"Like what?" I ask. You give me a knowing look.

"Come on. Don't be like that. You know what I mean." You tell me, exasperated, as you gesture at my cart. "You always said you hated the taste of alcohol, and now you have a cart full of it."

"People change. Their taste change. Their...feelings change." I blurt. You give me a dumbfounded look. I decide that I might as well keep going since I screwed up already. "Please, come back. Let's try to make it work again. If there's something wrong with me, I'll change, I swear. Please, just...give me another chance."

I can't tell if that look on your face is pity or pain. I don't think either will make me feel any better. "I'm sorry. I told you, it isn't you, it's me. I just can't...be with you anymore, and I don't know why."

Frantic desperation creeps into my voice as I continue to plead with you. "Please. I'm going crazy and I'm losing sleep. I'm in too far, and- and I'm in way too deep over you. I can't just..." My voice cracks, and I feel ashamed by my display of pitiful vulnerability, so I turn my head so you can't see these glassy, miserable eyes of mine. When I regain composure, I look at you again, and the look you have on your face puts a dent in my heart. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

"I want you to get over me, please. And you will, in time, and then you'll fall in love with someone so much better for you and-"

"No, I won't. You'll always be the one. You were the first, you'll be the last." You throw your hands up, irritated.

"You're being dramatic. There's so many great people out there, and someone as amazing as you won't have any trouble finding someone who'll like you."

"You don't understand," I sigh, putting my hand to my head. You sigh, too.

"What do you want from me, exactly?" You ask. I look up at you, and take a step closer. You hold your ground.

"I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'll do a-anything. I'll even dress up, like you always begged me to. I'll shine up my old brown shoes. I'll put on a brand new shirt. I'll get home early from work, if you say that you love me." You look like you're about to puke, and I'm not sure if it's the idea of being with me that makes you react that way, or because of the sheer desperation and distress my frantic voice delivers. Either way, it makes my stomach churn.

"I can't do that. I can't. I just can't be with you. If you love me, then...please, just let me go." You raise your voice at the end, and I think that's what snaps me out of that hysterical daze, and I realize that you're right. You're always certain about your actions, after all. I falter, and force myself to relax my body.

"Alright, then." I whisper, hoarsely. I don't know if I'm imagining it, but I feel the eyes of everyone in that aisle on me, staring relentlessly, and I feel dirty. I feel disgusted. I feel sick. "I won't bother you anymore."

You look surprised, but your eyes are sad. I wonder if it's because you feel pity for me. Probably. "I'm really sorry it ended this way." You tell me. I nod.

"It's fine." I reply shortly. You almost look helpless. You do that thing with your fingers, where you pick at the sides of your fingertip. It's a nervous tick, and one that you've been trying to get rid of for ages. Something about it makes me even sadder.

"We...We can keep in touch, you know. As buddies, of course." You offer, as if it would make me feel better. Maybe it does, just a bit. It's mostly because I know that you don't loathe me for making a scene in the middle of the grocery store, that you still feel somewhat comfortable around me.

But I know what it really is. It's one of those empty promises people make so the other person feels better. You'll try to keep in touch for a while, maybe, but after a few months, we'll more than likely resort to mere strangers who occasionally see each other at the grocery store or out on the streets. I don't want to become that to you. I don't want to be some faded memory shoved in the back of a forgotten drawer, blanketed by a film of dust and whose only company is the spider who weaves cobwebs that will surely never be found. I don't want to become that, but maybe you do.

I settle on a small smile. "Yeah. Sounds good." I lie. You smile back, still anxious.

"Ok, good. I should run, now. I've got a tub of ice cream in here that I plan to eat, not drink, when I get home."

"Sounds important. Sorry to keep you so long, by the way." You smile that carefree smile of yours in response.

"Don't sweat it. See you 'round."

"Yeah. Cya." I say, watching your retreating back. It's the second time I watched you leave me, and it feels like the second time losing you. I speak out without even thinking.

"Hey." I call. You turn around, question in your eyes. For a moment, I can't find my voice. But I look at you, and I mean really look at you, and a bittersweet falls across my heart. "If anything, I mean anything, happens...you have my number. Night or day, you can use it. Whenever you need someone to lay your heart and head upon, remember that...well, just snap your fingers, and I'll come running. Always."

You don't say anything, but instead you just nod and smile sweetly. I'm not sure if I overstepped my boundaries, if I made you uncomfortable, if you really heard the words that I said, but I just needed you to know that. You turn and continue walking, and I continue to watch. It feels as if I'm in a dream, as if nothing's truly real. My feet move me somewhere familiar, to find something that'll numb me of this sickening feeling.

I turn into the aisle and add two more bottles of Vodka to the cart.

Another night slowly closes in, and so does the loneliness. It's nearly been a year since I last saw you at that store. That was the last time we spoke, too. I set my phone on the coffee table in front of me. It's 11:53 on New Year's Eve, and I've got nothing to do but lounge around and watch the countdown in New York.

So far, you were wrong. I tried and tried, but I'm unable to feel anything more than platonic feelings for anyone else. And I tried and tried, but I still can't keep my thoughts away from the dangerous subject that is you.

I wrap a blanket around myself, and try not to think about it. Eventually, my mind will wander back to you, though, because it just has a knack for doing that. It's childish and selfish, still thinking of you like this after so long, but when I told you that you'll always be the one, I meant it.

So here I am, drinking Champagne from the bottle alone on New Year's Eve, staring at the phone and waiting for a call that'll never come.

About Cheap Trick's "The Flame"

This is a song about an intense yearning, burning passion, and unrequited first love. It was released in Cheap Trick's 1988 album, "Lap of Luxury" and hit #1 in the charts, making it one of their most popular song (after "I Want You To Want Me" and "Surrender," of course, which are both extremely good songs which I reccommend checking out on their "At Budokan!" album) and I really love it. This is one of the few songs that the band didn't write, so apparently they don't like it all that much, but it's still really really good

Robin Zander (the singer) is my favorite singer, and this song is, in my opinion, one of the best vocal performances he gives, especially live, as Cheap Trick (who are still touring and performing) is known as one of the best live acts. The emotion Zander puts into the song is really astounding, and the first time I heard it, I felt my heart breaking along with him.

More about the song, however, it's about still having feelings over a first love (a former lover is also coincidentally known as a flame) and the singer's turmoil over the one-sided love. Despite it all, the singer will always be there for their love even if they're in pain because of it. I wrote this whole thing in like 2-3 hours and it's now 3:30 A.M so I'm not sure if I conveyed enough emotion as I'd like to, but I hope you enjoyed. I might add a few more entries on here because I LOVE this challenge because I really love writing stuff inspired by music, and I've got some more songs that I could definitely write about :)

Anyways, if anyone got this far, I'd love some feedback. Thanks!

sometimes, you can see a woman out there, when the night has fallen and thrown shadow over the slumbering world, which the generous moon gently illuminates.

she'll be roaming the fields, maybe; a white dot slowly wading through thigh-length grass, one pale arm out to guide eyes blinded by darkness. or maybe she's shuffling along the road, tattered snow gown dragging across the asphalt. but she'll be there.

allegedly, long ago, a woman's body, headless and deflowered, was left among the tall grass of old stage road, and her spectre still wanders the premises of that road.

maybe you'll see her walking along it, one day, as you're driving home from work. but because it's so dark. maybe you'll pity her, and ask if she needs a ride home. but you probably won't notice it at first, until you get close enough, or until the headlights of your vehicle shine upon her. hopefully, when you do see it, you'll speed along that long stretch of road, and hopefully you won't look back.

after all, it isn't normal to be cradling your own head in your arms, is it?

sometimes i see her

in the living room,

listening to that

old record under

tacky christmas

lights,

vivid vermillion and viridescent across

her skin,

lighting her up like a

christmas tree.

and the ornaments,

why,

of course,

are her

shy silvery eyes,

like pieces of

shimmering tinfoil,

so vivid and

vivacious.

sometimes i see her

in the garden, pawing through

dark earth, under the

sweltering sun,

beams of daylight

transforming her

mahogany hair to gold,

as if it were

set afire.

and she turns to me, waving

soil-stained hands.

her smile,

so sweet, as she

beckons me to aid her attempts to

plant those strawberries

she loves,

and we do,

quietly knowing

life’s too good to

hurry,

and slowly, we

savor it.

sometimes i see her

in my bedroom, dancing, under those

tacky glow-in-the-dark stars we

put on my ceiling,

the soft lime glow illuminating her

swaying figure,

so carefree and

gentle.

and she’s singing along

to a song that plays on that

old vinyl record

we got in a dusty

antique store,

and it’s sung with

a voice of gold

by a young man who isn’t

young anymore.

but she sings with

him and his

honeyed voice,

and the piano sings too, softly

following the melody

like a lost,

loveless puppy.

sometimes i see her

in slow motion

under our shared roof,

as we dance to

our song

on that old vinyl record,

the pitter-patter of the rain

making it all so

surreal,

like a cocktail-induced

illusion in the midst

of midnight.

and she smiles against

my chest as she listens

to the bass sing its

placid,

poignant bassline

and i want nothing more than to

place that special ring on her dainty finger.

but she said slow living

would be good for her,

so instead of unveiling that

special box from my

pocket,

i close my eyes

and listen, too,

briefly believing in

things like soulmates

and fate.

always, after i see her,

i’m in my bedroom, under those

tacky glow-in-the-dark stars we

put on my ceiling,

and the sky shrouds

the whole world in

shadow

and all that moves are the

rivers of woe

and grief

cascading down the

side of my face.

Loneliness,

lethal loveliness,

love-lit lilies and

lavish lovers

lingering in a

little labyrinth.

Opal offerings,

obscure outlines,

obsolete obligations and

ominous, overcompensating organisms

offering outdated opinions,

obscenely obtuse.

Venom,

virulent vexes,

vehement voices, and

vain, valiant volunteers

vanquishing veneers of vulnerability and virtue, veering to

vermillion vindictiveness.

Euphoric evenings,

earthly enthusiasm,

earnest enrapture and

effusive, elated evenings

eluding ego-centric, enervating examples,

effortlessly elated.