Luke Song Preference: “If You Say So” by Lea Michele
And I can’t get the last words that you said Can’t get those words out of my head
You didn’t see it coming.
No one did.
It was an accident – a mistake, a stormy day, a stroke of bad luck that brought a whole plane down.
You didn’t believe them. How could you? You absolutely refused to believe that your blue-eyed, blonde haired happiness was lost in the middle of the sea, that he was just among the wreckage of another fallen plane, lost in the depths of an uncharted part of the ocean, never to be found again.
He couldn’t be.
He had travelled on hundreds of planes before – across the world and back, to this place and that venue but always back – he always came back.
It wouldn’t be any different this time.
It shouldn’t have been.
It was just another plane, just another flight, just another country, just another show.
It was part of his job, and he always whispered in your ear about how it was the worst part – leaving you.
But you’d help him pack up with a sad little smile and he’d hold you close the night before he left and you thought nothing of it – you’d miss him, but he’d always come back.
Why was it so different this time? Why did you get a phone call from his sobbing mother instead of him, why did you see magazines and articles flashing with pictures of an open sea and the airplane that should’ve been his?
Everything was the same as it was, just like it was every other time he left.
He had called you mere moments before he got on the plane, telling you he’d call you back the moment he landed.
You’re still waiting by the phone.
It’s been seven whole days.
How could you leave me this way?
You waited even though they said he wasn’t coming back.
He had to come back. He had to come back.
They just didn’t understand.
They tried to tell you, in soft-spoken words and fragile, light touches that Luke was gone that he wasn’t ever come back, that he was – he was –
You refuse to say the word.
Because he had just called you seven days ago, he said he loved you seven days ago – it was just a week ago that he was in your arms, kissing your forehead and telling you he’d be back before you knew it.
Luke wouldn’t break a promise to you; he wouldn’t just leave like that.
They tell you he didn’t have a choice, that he’d be back if he could be – but that he’s gone he’s gone and there’s no getting back the boy with the sky blue eyes and wide, innocent smile.
There’s no getting back the boy who tripped over his two legs when he rushed back to you from the airport gates, no matter how long you stand, waiting.
The realization starts to sink deeper into your heart, an anchor pulling you down to the depths of your own misery when you start to face the facts.
When Luke doesn’t call back. When he doesn’t show up at the terminal on the day he said he would.
One night. Two nights. Three nights.
Seven nights you cry yourself to sleep, your bed missing the warmth that Luke always brought that lulled you to sleep.
Seven nights you wait for a phone call that never comes.
You leave your phone by your side, waiting for the familiar picture to pop up, his special ringtone to play, to hear his voice saying, I’m sorry babe, I love you.
Seven nights you fall asleep with tearstains on your cheeks and your phone in your hands.
Seven times you wake up cold and alone.
It’s been seven whole days, seven whole days Of pure hurt
Luke always made you feel things, but you never thought it would be pain.
Not this agonizing, sickly, twisted feeling at the pit of your stomach that leaves you feeling hollow and helpless – all over a phone call that never comes.
The tears come pouring out of your eyes and the questions come spilling quickly after – why, why him, why, why, why – and you’re reduced to a mess of broken sobs and choked cries, no pillow or blanket able to muffle your pain.
But the emptiness settles into your bones after a few days, and you think that’s the worst part.
Because there’s no more tears of grief, no more screaming and crying and curling up into a ball, trying to pretend that it’s all just some nightmare that’s lasted a little too long.
No, the emptiness is the worst part of all.
Because it hits you like a speeding truck; how you wake up one morning and you look over at the empty space next to you, feeling like something’s missing.
It’s eating and tasting nothing. It’s smiling and not feeling right. It’s talking and feeling as if your voice is coming out all wrong. It’s walking out the door and realizing the air is a little harder to breathe, the sun a little too bright for your tear-glazed eyes.
It’s realizing that a part of you is missing.
A part of you that you gave to Luke. A piece of your heart that he’ll never return.
You don’t realize how much you needed it – how much you needed Luke – until he was gone.
Until you try to cook and remember how he used to rest his chin on your head. Until you take a walk and remember how your strides are now permanently longer as a habit from trying to match his. Until you hear a love song and remember how once upon a time, you used to smile and think of him.
Now you cry and wish for his arms to just be around you for just one last time.
I can’t believe it’s true I keep looking for you
You hate how your eyes always hopefully lift each time you see a tuft of blonde hair.
Because you’re always disappointed when you see it’s not the boy you were looking for – not the boy with the lip ring that he constantly played with, not the boy who slumped his shoulders a little, not the boy with the jittery fingers.
It’s partially your own fault, really.
You set yourself up to crash every single time.
Because your eyes always scan a room to look for him first, because your fingers always automatically fly to your phone to check for any missed calls.
A part of you is always searching for him – the same part of you that will always love Luke.
They tell you to stop looking around with such bright eyes when he’s not coming back.
When he’s gone to a place you couldn’t reach, when the body you’re looking for is floating somewhere in the Atlantic.
Your heart breaks every single time you’re let down again – he’s not going to turn up at the coffee shop, you need to stop looking – and you hate how to cling on to the last shreds of hope that you have, that Luke would come back, that he’ll be here.
But can you really blame yourself?
It’s the last thing you have of him, after all.
I thought we would grow old
You hate it.
You hate how Luke said forever, how he promised you that one day you’d have a ring on his fingers and his lips on yours in front of an altar and a cheering crowd.
You hate how you used to daydream about how Luke’s smile would age; the crinkles around his eyes and the wrinkles in his cheeks by the same boyish, playful innocence in his grin.
You hate how you thought about Luke in a tuxedo and Luke holding a baby in his arms and Luke fussing over a girl with your eyes or teasing a boy that looked so much like him and you hated how you thought about a future with Luke.
You hated how you thought it was possible. How you thought it would be your future one day; something more than a wistful daydream, something more than an empty promise.
Because Luke didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
But it only made it so much harder for you when you realized, with a crashing halt, that you’d have to let go of all your dreams.
Let go of all your silly daydreams and late night talks about the future and memories of him whispering into your hair one day I’ll make you mine forever.
Let go of all the promises he made to you in the dark of the night, let go of all the plans and wishes and could’ve and should’ve and would’ve.
You had already lost the boy who made your heart flutter and your skin tingle; the boy whose arms made you feel at home.
And now, you had to lose more.
Memories, moments, wishes, plans, dreams –
You’re not sure how much more you can lose before you’re all hollowed out on the inside.
Was it just a week ago You said, I love you girl
It feels like an eternity.
You notice every second he’s not by your side, every moment that should’ve been a memory to look back on.
Every breath you take while he’s already breathed his last, every aching heartbeat while his has slowed to a stop.
It’s been a week but it feels like you’ve lived five lifetimes without him.
Perhaps grief makes you overdramatic. Perhaps grief simply slows down time.
Because you’re acutely aware of all the things that should’ve happened – he should’ve been home by now, he should’ve been walking through those doors.
You’re aware of all the things that are happening – I’m crying and he’s drowning I’m waiting and he’s given up.
You still remember the last moment you had with Luke – a moment that you took for granted, a moment that you thought was just one of millions to more to come.
You never thought it would’ve been your last with him.
You were curled up in Luke’s arms – you missed them, you missed him, you haven’t been home since he left – and he was holding you close and drawing circles on your back.
You remembered how his chest rose and fall like the waves of an ocean, lulling you to sleep.
Now the thought of the ocean and his breaths makes you nauseous.
You think you’ll always remember your last moments with Luke, how he tilted his head down just as you looked up to meet his eyes, smiling faintly when you caught sight of his blue eyes, shining in the dark.
You remember how his breath was low and whispered, how you could hear the sincerity in his voice and see the wonder in his eyes when he looked at you – for the last time.
I love you.
Then I said, I love you more Then a breath, a pause, you said If you say so