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Song Stories 3: No Excuses
"No Excuses" by Alice In Chains
c. 1993 Buttnugget Publishing (ASCAP)
We are not lovers.
You know, sometimes I have to remind myself of that?
Sometimes, when we've been awake too long, or working too hard, and talking so much that the words flow unchecked and unguarded, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to reach out to her, to touch -- and it is always with startlement that I remember, invariably just in the nick of time: we are not lovers. Close as we are, intimate as we've become, I am not privileged to know her that way.
We are not lovers. In our own unique way, we are closer than lovers.
But damn it, it's not enough.
It's all right
There comes a time
Got no patience to search for peace of mind
Laying low
Want to take it slow
No more hiding or disguising truths I've sold
We are not lovers.
It hurts that we're not lovers, when so many times we've needed to drown in each other's arms.
So much pain. Too much pain. It drains us, numbs us, leaves us isolated and separated when what we both need most is someone to turn to, someone to hold on to. We remain alone together, instead of submerging ourselves in a passion that could cleanse us, scald away the remnants of agony, burn us and blind us and renew us, so that we might emerge whole...
Consummation: to be consumed. In this case, I know that is what it would be. She already consumes me -- all that I am is an echo of a shadow of a fading quest, fraying wraith held together by her steady presence in my world. That's all I am... and sometimes, that's all I want to be. I don't care how deep I've sunk, I don't care how pathetic I've become, just as long as she's with me.
But we are not lovers.
Even though we need to be.
It's okay
Had a bad day
Hands are bruised from breaking rocks all day
Drained and blue
I bleed for you
You think it's funny, well, you're drowning in it too
We are not lovers.
We love each other, though. How else could we remain together, after all this time? When the very sight of each other evokes so many horrible, traumatic memories; when our shared past is a patchwork of agony, revisited and reborn so often that we can predict with dull certainty when the past will return to haunt us anew; when we are such complete antonyms of each other, a living dichotomy, a contradiction in perpetual motion.
We share a love beyond most humans' experience, we love each other so much that our hearts are rooted in each other's souls.
But we are not lovers.
Well, why the hell not?
Yeah it's fine
We'll walk down the line
Leave our rain, a cold trade for warm sunshine
You my friend
I will defend
And if we change, well, I love you anyway
We are not lovers.
And if we were lovers, how would things be any different?
Would the Consortium come after us, use us against each other, hold us hostage to keep us in line? ...Too late; they've done that already.
Would we become hearts-and-flowers mushy, trading goo-goo eyes in the midst of official briefings, playing footsie under the autopsy table? ...Not likely. We are what we are, and that's not likely to change.
Would there be cross words, misunderstandings? Would I leave her behind at times when I most need backup, in the hopes of protecting her? Would she distance herself from my trips into the stratosphere of probability by becoming cool and sardonic? ...No doubt. Because that's the way things are now. Life is never perfect, not even when the love in it is.
So what would change if we became lovers? Nothing... except that there would be solace from the cold. Sweet hot pleasure and gentle warmth afterwards, oases in the icy wasteland of work and trauma that are our lives. Something to look forward to in my life, something other than an empty apartment, a couch and a beer and a videotape. Occasionally, I might call her Dana. And once in a blue moon, I might even let her call me Fox.
We are not lovers.
We should be lovers.
I wonder if I can convince Scully of that...?
Every day it's something hits me all so cold
Find me sitting by myself
No excuses, then I know...