I don't know why everyone always thinks songs are about drugs. Here's a short story I wrote while listening to Pawn Shop Blues. This is what I was feeling related to the song:
Melanie sat at the window and watched Lake Michigan crash against the rocky shoreline like it was sobbing with her. She let out an exhausted sigh and twirled her strawberry blonde hair in her fingers. The chorus of pots and pans colliding and the unfamiliar bridge of adjusted furniture was a song she had never heard before. He was leaving and collecting everything he ever touched. Melanie gripped the backs of her gold earrings, praying he'd forget them.
He had been in and out all day; loading up his truck, leaving a trail of dirt from spider plants and safety pins that had once held everything together.
They hadn't spoken since last night's dinner when he said he couldn't keep up anymore. Melanie desperately wished he would've found someone else; that someone else would be the reason for his depart. When the song was coming to a close and she could feel him behind her, hugging his last box, she wiped the tears. She didn't turn around.
"I can't do this once more," he spoke.
"No man can keep you together. You've been broken since you were born."
With that, he was gone, taking everything but a half a loaf of bread and a few oranges.
The final concerto of the heavy front door slamming left her lonely.
She removed the earrings from her lobes and held them in her palm.
She'd pawn them to buy a couch or coffee table or coasters to put on said coffee table; something to make it feel like home again.
She never thought it'd come to this, but that's what happens when you're on your own.
I don't know why everyone always thinks songs are about drugs. Here's a short story I wrote while listening to Pawn Shop Blues. This is what I was feeling related to the song:
Melanie sat at the window and watched Lake Michigan crash against the rocky shoreline like it was sobbing with her. She let out an exhausted sigh and twirled her strawberry blonde hair in her fingers. The chorus of pots and pans colliding and the unfamiliar bridge of adjusted furniture was a song she had never heard before. He was leaving and collecting everything he ever touched. Melanie gripped the backs of her gold earrings, praying he'd forget them. He had been in and out all day; loading up his truck, leaving a trail of dirt from spider plants and safety pins that had once held everything together. They hadn't spoken since last night's dinner when he said he couldn't keep up anymore. Melanie desperately wished he would've found someone else; that someone else would be the reason for his depart. When the song was coming to a close and she could feel him behind her, hugging his last box, she wiped the tears. She didn't turn around. "I can't do this once more," he spoke. "No man can keep you together. You've been broken since you were born." With that, he was gone, taking everything but a half a loaf of bread and a few oranges. The final concerto of the heavy front door slamming left her lonely. She removed the earrings from her lobes and held them in her palm. She'd pawn them to buy a couch or coffee table or coasters to put on said coffee table; something to make it feel like home again. She never thought it'd come to this, but that's what happens when you're on your own.