He thinks fast, but moves slowly towards his goal. He will beg for all the time he wasted moving so slowly, as he watches his brothers grow old and into men. As he watches his love marry out of necessity, because she could no longer wait for "some day." He regrets that he was blind to all of this, up to this point. Where did your life lead you? You're lonely, enjoying a modicum of success.
It wasn't your music that drove you to the depths of madness with fire and passion, and passion, and...passion. It was loving. It was losing what you loved. It was the struggle to keep what you loved, and it was the struggle to keep your head above water while you drowned in your ignorance. It was wanting to cry after she tried so hard to love you, and you were so obstinate, you fool. She would have given you everything. Her body was yours if you had only claimed it. Her heart sang a song for you and only you, with its irregular beat.
Your flaws became a religion. Hide the bad, display the good. Don't talk about other men, other loves. Don't hurt his pride. You have one love, and it's him. Everyone else is shit. Make love to him constantly; quell his fears, his insecurities. Tell him he's better. That he makes you happy, that he makes you laugh like no other; that the world is his, if he wants. Tell him his voice is deep and soothing; that it makes you hot; that his hands should be wrapped around your waist, because they belong; you belong together.
You want to love a difficult man. You met him. And you either fix him or you spend your life trying to figure out this puzzle. You want a challenge but you didn't have this in mind. You were looking for someone who would keep you on your toes, and make you want to learn; want to become a better person. He stunts your growth with his detachment, his cynicism, his lies; his poison.
If things had been perfect: you would have married young, walked to work, been the mother to his...your beautiful children, let him take care of you the way only he could; he would have seen this all coming; he would have laughed more, smiled more, held your hand, locked arms, kissed you everywhere, and then everywhere again, he would've loved your words, every single one of them, and stayed up to keep you company because you're kind of an insomniac; he would've been your dream boy, and you would've watched him turn into your dream man one day.
He had to learn finally, that love requires more than love. It requires action. Some more immediate than others. It requires signs of good faith, and dedication, and consistency. It requires providing her with what she craves; a little security. He realized now why his words meant so little. He crawls back into the dark:
You want the pain in the pit of your stomach to eat you alive. It should eat you alive. And then you can write a song about it.