so weird to be back here
Ben Folds: "Still Fighting It"
I didn't understand that the word "son" in the first line of this song was not "sun" for quite a while, but once I did it changed everything. What had been a sort of surreal love song--I imagined the speaker talking to his love--became something even more unusual: a love song for a child, telling him how much his parents are like him, how vulnerable they are, how they went through what he is going through.
It feels like the room I shared with my brothers in St. Paul. I remember light coming through the shades, gauzy curtains, the radiator where my parents set my cup of water. Feels robin's-egg blue, dotted swiss, brown. Feels like a windowseat in a warm room, a few hours in a bus speeding into summer, the last time I held your hand: a little bit lonely, a little bit lost.
Once, a boy told me when he heard this song it made him think of me and cry.
I listened to this song with my mom, driving down Hiawatha. She offered to bring me to my boyfriend's house, which was in another state. I can't remember whether I took her up on it. I think I must have; I think we met him just across state lines, split the trip in two.
Everybody knows it hurts to grow up/ But everybody does/ So weird to be back here/ Let me tell you what:/ The years go on, and we're still fighting it/ We're still fighting it/ Oh, we're still fighting it/ We're still fighting it/ And you're/ So much/ Like me/ I'm sorry.
I didn't understand that the word "son" in the first line of this song was not "sun" for quite a while, but once I did it changed everything. What had been a sort of surreal love song--I imagined the speaker talking to his love--became something even more unusual: a love song for a child, telling him how much his parents are like him, how vulnerable they are, how they went through what he is going through.
It feels like the room I shared with my brothers in St. Paul. I remember light coming through the shades, gauzy curtains, the radiator where my parents set my cup of water. Feels robin's-egg blue, dotted swiss, brown. Feels like a windowseat in a warm room, a few hours in a bus speeding into summer, the last time I held your hand: a little bit lonely, a little bit lost.
Once, a boy told me when he heard this song it made him think of me and cry.
I listened to this song with my mom, driving down Hiawatha. She offered to bring me to my boyfriend's house, which was in another state. I can't remember whether I took her up on it. I think I must have; I think we met him just across state lines, split the trip in two.
Everybody knows it hurts to grow up/ But everybody does/ So weird to be back here/ Let me tell you what:/ The years go on, and we're still fighting it/ We're still fighting it/ Oh, we're still fighting it/ We're still fighting it/ And you're/ So much/ Like me/ I'm sorry.
posted by eireann at 7:33 PM
5 Comments:
just beautiful. what else can i say? i am very excited and honored to be allowed a little window to your world.
I, too, am feeling fortunate to have found this. And you are making me nostalgic for Ben, I love to hear him sing because his slightly Southern accent reminds me of NC, in a good way. This looks very exciting Erieann.
what a beautiful site...beautiful words...so glad I could peek in.
Thanks for this bit of beauty.
thank you so for sharing your secret space, it's lovely x
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