Singing in the Car

There's this version of the song, live on a stage somewhere... Bowie trading verses with Reznor before they harmonize the choruses. The melody line is extended and the drum track lingers on in a way that makes me think about things that probably don't matter quite as much as I make them out to be.

The beat slides away and for whatever reason I flash back to this story I wrote a few years back; a story about a lonliness that I sometimes carry, a feeling I used to feel so uncomfortable with that I was dying to give it away to someone else.

Looking back, I don't really know if Darcy handled it the way I was hoping she would, but I'm still kinda proud of the words. And I think it still holds up, even if it was written in a time when my world was so much more about asking questions than trying to find answers.

I'm still asking questions, though. Questions I never used to have to ask. It used to be a stare, or a smile. It never used to have to be a question at all.

But it is now.

It's like you were surprised to hear it. This song that I usually sing to myself,. this song that I normally only get to hear when I'm alone. Even though it's always better with harmony. Even though it's always better as a duet.

           I wish you could hear my singing.
           I wish we still made music together.

[Listening to: Reznor/Bowie, "Hurt"]

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