If you are reading this later, you might notice these words are different. Initially I tried writing from the point of view of the girl in this song. But that’s wrong. Her song is different, it doesn’t sound anything like this one. It didn’t fit.
I’m not sure what her song is. Maybe I wouldn’t like it. But I know what this song is.
This song is an old picture of that road trip you took after freshman year. Forget the all-nighters you pulled, erase the gnawing stress of finals week, let’s not even bring up the shame on the night you lost your virginity – for that one week all was right in the world. The sunlight hit your hair from behind, giving your face a warm glow.
This song is a steaming cup of hot cocoa with Bailey’s in it. You sip it tenderly as the frost opaques the windows and a soft blanket of snow drapes over the car. You don’t have anywhere to be all day.
This song is an old home video of your two kids fighting, viewed long after they’ve moved out. It’s the dry kiss you place on your lover’s brow as she tears up watching it. It’s the way she rotates the ring on your finger.
[Buy The Year Of The Leopard.]