today i wrote a song, and i guess that it's about you,
or how i never understood what dancing meant until i met you.
in a winter college town you proved
that we could move in ways so un-ingenuine.
then: on the crowded floor, a little down, ten people over,
was like standing on the violent ocean shore.
i said "you know it'd be the same,"
and i said "boy don't be naive.
even if i stuck around, but you know i'm always leaving.
so today i wrote this song,
but somehow i know it's not about you,
as much as wanting to belong, or have something to connect to.
and how impermanence came wholly into question,
when you challenged my perception
that to go back and forth is such a noble task.
you shook the sea without so much as leaving tracks,
and gave motion a whole new meaning,
one i'd try to learn if i wasn't always leaving.
but you know i'm always leaving.