Reservoir Hill


In my mind's eye, I can see us there still, at Reservoir Hill, you in my arms and I wishing us right out of that town. Why didn't I kiss you there or unhook your bra strap or put a hand up your shirt or tell you anything — ANYTHING — that was in my thoughts about us. Why did it have to be me telling you too late and you had already gone away and I was moping my way to some other girl? Sometimes, my dear, I can make it all right if I think about it all night, if I make my brain hurt and my heart flutter and my eyes water a little too. Somehow, I can make myself appear there again with you.

If I could only go back, take your hand, and show you my heart. I wouldn't be sitting here wondering about you. I'd know everything. I know you would have given me your heart and your hand and everything you could think of. I'd know you inside and out. If only I could retrace my steps all the way back to you and that hill. If I hadn't thought you were only kidding when you said we should go to prom together. If I hadn't laughed my stupid, nervous laugh and instead looked you in the eye and told you I saw us together but not to rush it. Why was it so hard to just say it? 

If I hadn't slumped so low in your car's seat when you asked me in to see your parents, where would we be now? If I had only kissed you in my parents' basement minutes before? What about when you gave me that one last chance by sending me a heartfelt letter? Oh, you gave me so many chances. I see it now like I couldn't before. You know I'm sorry, but you have no idea how sorry I am. I've cried my eyes out a thousand times, hating myself, tearing at my chest, asking myself why didn't I just take one of those chances. 

If I could only go back and take one of those moments back, I would. I'd snatch you up like the treasure you are. And I would never let you drop or let you go. Some chances you never get again. Oh, but I wish I could. If I only could, you'd have no confusion in your heart. You'd have no care in your eyes. I'd never let a day go by that I didn't show you how much you mean to me. 

Do you have any idea how many times I've seen myself scribbling a note to pass to you in class? The note is always a variation on the same theme: "What are you doing tonight?" "If you ever stop dating him, give me a call." "Can I talk to you after school?" "Cindy, I don't know how else to say this, but I think we should hang out." My poor mind keeps trying to find a way back to you. Surely, there is an opening somewhere, a crack I've missed. I keep repeating the same thing back to myself like some lost lovelorn passage: There's got to be a way. If I could only find it. You'd be in my arms now. 

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