Inspiration

I had to rewrite this, lol, because my inspiration changed AS I was writing this. Because, yes, this song is about being unhappy in the world where you live—but it’s also noting that even when you dream about something else, there are limits to that fantasy.

WAYS TO LISTEN: YouTube | Spotify | Apple Music

From the Eras Tour: I Hate It Here x The Lakes mashup

---

Tell me all your secrets
All you’ll ever be is
My eternal consolation prize
You see I was a débutante
In another life, but
Now I seem to be scared to go outside
If comfort is a construct
I don’t believe in good luck
Now that I know what’s what

---

April 2001

The air was crisp and cool, with just the hint of the winter that held on longer than it should have, digging its icy fingers into every morning and every evening for days past its expiration date.

She walked down the stone steps, hesitating with each step, sweeping her eyes across the path, from the hydrangea bushes, to the stone walkway to the trees and benches—

He was gone.

It was too late.

She stood in the middle of the path, the reality of what she’d done crushing into hers, rocks on her shoulder, keeping her in one place, locking her into the choice she’d made.

She’d made it to the parking lot, to her car before she’d stopped — she’d run back back to the entrance, telling herself that if he was still there — if he’d waited, hoping she’d change her mind it would be a sign—

But he hadn’t waited.

I want to show you the light is different in Italy

She closed her eyes, folded her arms across her middle, remembering the warmth of his breath on her skin, on her lips, his hands on her face, the dizziness of knowing his body was so close to her own, that if she leaned in just a little, she’d finally answer the question that had kept her up at night. What would he taste like, what it feel like to run her hands through his hair, down his chest—

Something rustled in the bushes, and she opened her eyes. Still alone. Still wondering.

Where would they have gone? Would he have really taken her to Italy?

Will you come with me?

She’d almost said yes, she’d almost given in, almost let herself fly into the unknown, into the wild adventure that he’d promised—

The word had been in her throat, the tip of her tongue — she’d been so ready —

With you?

And then, oh, but then he’d spoken —

Yeah, with me. Or not.

Or not.

She swallowed the shaky sob that bubbled up as she relived that moment, those words —

I mean if we get where we’re going, Italy or wherever, and then you decide you can’t stand me, I’ll walk. At least you’ll be free.

Free. Alone in Italy or California or Maine or wherever they were when he was done with her. He hadn’t promised her love or forever, just a right now. Was that freedom? Was that what it looked like?

She opened her eyes, looked around again, then exhaled slowly. More steady.

No, freedom only looked like that when you had nothing else to worry about. When you didn’t care about anyone but yourself. She had a job here. Friends. Family. Her elderly grandmother.

His idea of freedom was selfish, and she’d tried so hard not to be that way. She’d worked so long so that she’d be loved and respected. She had that now, and he wanted her to throw it away for what?

For right now? For a few weeks? Until he found freedom with someone else? He hadn’t really wanted her. He’d just been angry she wasn’t doing what he wanted her to do. If she did that, how would it be any different than what he was accusing her of doing now?

No. No, she’d made the right choice. And the universe had proved it by making sure he was gone before she came back.

I don’t want to be free.

She didn’t want to be someone who ran when things were difficult. Someone who didn’t have any ties to the world, could come and go because they didn’t belong —

That wasn’t freedom.

And she didn’t want it.

She turned, retraced the steps she’d made only a little while, slowly. Deliberately, pausing for a moment in the entrance. And this time, she looked back to the empty space that she’d left.

But, oh, she’d been so tempted to take his hand. To run away and never look back.

If only he’d promised her something she could hold on to, even the hope of a future together…

Yeah, with me. Or not.

Some dreams were better left in fragments, frayed pieces of memory when you woke in the morning. And he would always be one of them.