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Dreaming Her Dreams... When playing stopped being fun she didn't know. She just knew that it was no longer fun, it no longer took her to her place like before. Before she could stand in the middle of her small room - her guitar in her hands - her small bed behind her, her run down bookshelf, crammed full with books and the small wobbly desk covered with scraps of paper and other forms of junk under the window in front of her, and she would close her eyes to the sight. The belongings would disappear and the light coming through the ragged, torn curtains would take on a warm gentle glow. Then she'd play. After the first note, all the ot

If I hugged you, would you never let go? If I kissed you, would you cherish that moment? If I reached for your hand, would you take mine gently? If I needed a shoulder, would you let me cry on yours? If I needed to talk, would you really listen? If I needed to scream, would you do it with me? If I needed to go, would you come with me? If I fell for you, would you catch me? or just let me hit the pavement?