Silver only shines in the daylight

Wanderlust.  They all say it.  Wanderlust.

They whisper it on their indie blogs and behind the dusty shelves of secondhand bookstores and they all say it.

Wanderlust.

Wanderlust, or just an urge to run?  Isn't that what you do when there's no where to hide and fighting back doesn't have a fighting chance?

"Let's get a silver bullet trailer and have a baby boy."

I would miss you less in a trailer halfway across the country.  Then again, maybe I would just miss him more.

I always though you and I, we could run away. We would buy that trailer and we would see the world. And I always thought you and I, we could be happy. We would listen to the Beatles and I would make you too much dessert and we would raise our baby boy on Star Trek and coconut shampoo.

You and I, we would be okay.

You would laugh at my dreams and I would tease you when you tripped. But late at night when you held me, I would close my eyes and I would pretend you were him.

I would sing lullabies of longing and show our baby boy his picture and I'd tell that baby I wanted him to grow up to be more like him than like his own father.

I would write him love letters, but I wouldn't send them (that was always my problem). I would put them in a box in the top of the closet and when you found them, I wouldn't tell you who they were for.

And you and I, we would be okay.

Wanderlust, the urge to run.

I always thought we both had it, so you and I, we could run away together but it turns out your case was stronger than mine. But it is better this way, because you and I, we would be okay. But with out him, I would never be anything more than that.