Throwback Friday #96 Little Things (2004?)

For this week’s rummage through the archives of ‘stuff wot I’ve done’, it’s an airing for another of those sad little songs written all the way back in the early-mid 2000s, when I was licking wounds of one sort or another. I can just about recall the melody for the chorus (a few lines of it anyway), but other than that, only the words remain, and also the feelings that gave rise to them.

little things


I admit I’ve got some cheek and I admit I’ve got some nerve
now wanting your attention after so successful a body-swerve
after insisting it was over. after insisting on meaning it
after announcing plain and simple, our so called-love, I’m leaving it
and it’s not that I regret one word or would reverse the hands of time
or contest my intuition or that common sense of mine
but there’s something gone awry in our story, though still true
details inadmissable because I needed to hate you
so forgive me this confession. I’m not re-attaching strings
when I tell you, like a thirst I just miss the little things


‘cos you were also a warmth, you were a sound in my head
and you were the way particular words got said
you were the smell of the soap on the palms of my hands
that bemused concentration whenever I told you my plans
you were pub-smoke, you were cinnamon on our one christmas eve
that distraught little boy when I said I would leave
you were the hand leaving mine, you put these breaks in my heart
our sum sure wasn’t great, but I still love you in parts


I won’t come knocking on your door, won’t be waking you from sleep
won’t be finding how to justify now some ill-advised repeat
won’t make believe I was passing or stand before you wet from the rain
won’t forget the whys and the reasons, won’t waste more breath trying to explain
and it’s not that I’m not torn or sometimes mourn those days with you
but how to even tell you and keep my promise true?
I know I’m better off this way because I’m stronger now and free
how I had to hurt you back this once to finally stop us from hurting me
so forgive me my confusion and any grief it welcomes in
when I tell you, like a thirst I just miss the little things



the point on me is lost of my simultaneous default
of now confessing joy when it’s not a ploy and i’m content with our result
when the way things are still suits me and I’m as pleased as punch I had my say
I lie awake less, my bed emptied, no longer rueing our worst of days
but it’s not that i’m at rest, I am, at best, a man who knows
a little less now about love-stories, about the way they’re supposed to go
but I do know you deserve somehow more now than what got said
neither crumbs or guilty gifts but the truth of it instead
so understand me, this annotation, around you i’m not running rings
when I tell you like a thirst, I just miss the little things


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