And all I ever meant to do was to keep you

And under the boughs unbowed
All clothed in a snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed

Each feather it fell from skin
Till threadbare while she grew thin

–the Decemberists/the Crane Wife 3

 

Sound the keening bell
To see it’s painted red
Soft as fontanel
The feathers in the thread
And all I ever meant to do was to keep you

–the Decemberists/the Crane Wife 1 and 2

 

Sometimes you love someone and end up hurting them without meaning any harm. Maybe there is something fundamental about them you didn’t understand,  Maybe you didn’t understand what the cost would be to them or to yourself for letting something continue.

 

I only wanted to…

I just meant to….

All I wanted was to…

 

Followed with the almost inevitable

I never meant to…

 

Keep you. Not lose you. Stay with you. Be near you. Love you.

Love you.

Not

Hurt you. Kill you. Break your heart.

 

In an English class, about a million years ago, a teacher once told us that what makes a merely  sad story tragic is  inevitability.  Romeo and Juliet have to die. There’s no way around it.

I’m not sure that’s true.

Is it the inevitability that makes it tragic, or the heartbreak?

Certainly a certain amount of heartbreak is inevitable if you have a heart that feels anything at all.

 

Isn’t it?

Inevitable.

 

People come together and offer each other their gifts, and their flaws.

We don’t always knows what the gifts are really worth, or how much the flaws draw from us.

Sometimes, we find out and it’s too late.

 

 

 

 

How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather it fell from skin

And I will hang my head low.

–the Decemberists/the Crane Wife 3