Breathe (2 A.M.)–Anna Nalick

Two A.M. and she calls me ’cause I’m still awake.
“Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?
I don’t love him; winter just wasn’t my season.”
Yeah, we walked through the doors.
So accusing, their eyes, like they have any right at all to criticize.
Hypocrites; you’re all here for the very same reason.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track.
We’re like cars on a cable,
And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, girl,
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe, just breathe.

May, he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss.
Just today he sat down to the flask and his fifth.
Ain’t been sober since maybe October of last year.
Here in town, you can tell he’s been down for awhile,
But, my God, it’s so beautiful when the boy smiles.
Wanna hold him.
Maybe I’ll just sing about it.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track.
We’re like cars on a cable,
And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boy,
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe, just breathe.

There’s a light at each end of the tunnel.
You shout ’cause you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out.
And these mistakes you make, you’ll just make them again
If you only try spinning around.

Two A.M and I’m still awake writing a song.
If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to.
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
‘Cause these words are my diary screaming aloud,
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to.

But you can’t jump the track.
We’re like cars on a cable,
And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button now.
Sing it if you understand.
And breathe, just breathe, just breathe.
Oh, breathe, just breathe.
Oh, breathe, just breathe.

This song just feels really relevant lately. And it reminds me of you because you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. And also it reminds me of the time when you equated me telling you about the abuse to being naked in front of you. I remember that I thought, “Finally, someone gets it.” And I also remember all those times when I’d start writing letters to you late at night and it would feel like therapy. I would intend to write light-hearted letters that would make you smile and end up baring my soul. I ended up throwing away some of the letters I wrote to you because of that. Sometimes, with a pen in my hand, I lose all sense of myself and forget about writing for other people at all, even when I was writing to you. Sometimes that’s a good thing because it frees me from my constant worrying and I’m also more honest that way, but it sometimes led to me writing things I shouldn’t have, and I would finish the letter and either know I couldn’t send it at all, or have to go back and cross out some stuff. But also when I couldn’t get that to happen, like when you asked me to write to you and tell you about my abusive ex, I couldn’t get into that kind of stream-of-consciousness headspace. I was painfully aware that I was writing for an audience, and even though it was just you, I found myself agonizing over what to tell you, not because I didn’t want to be honest with you, but because I’ve repressed so much of that relationship and at that point, I did the best I could to never even think about it. And it’s not the same now. There are still things I just can’t remember–I know it was actually worse than I can remember, it just feels like a big blur with very little standing out. But now it’s not blocked out like that anymore. I actually think of it quite often, mostly in relation to how angry I still am, first that it happened at all, and second of all, because it still affects me in ways that have cost me so much. I feel like I lost you because of the abuse. Or rather, because of the way the abuse has affected me–my inability to really talk about it (but that’s because of your reaction the first time I told you…)–and because I can’t always control the way my body reacts to being touched, even being touched gently and even when I want it. I feel like if I had been able to control that better, you would still want me.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Breathe (2 A.M.)–Anna Nalick

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s