The song only has about a dozen lines, but it’s hauntingly sad. There’s something incredibly melancholy about the cover that Amy Winehouse sings and it hits me on so many levels.
It’s a really simple question really; ‘Will you still love me tomorrow?’. I lie, you lie, we all lie. We lie to each other, but most importantly, we lie to ourselves. I think the internal dialogue in our head when we’re with someone we want to be with, we want to believe that everything they say is the truth. You linger on every word, every smile seems like an eternity, and that’s because you want so badly for what you’re feeling to be real. Lying takes two people, someone to tell the lie, and someone to believe it. That’s why it’s so easy when you’re on the outside of things to give advice, but when you’re inside, it’s as if your mind is on fire.
In order for anything real to happen you have to trust them, and I understand that. I’m just tired of being the first one, or the only one. I’m not saying I’m a saint either, I’ve been on the other side of it, getting what I want at the expense of someone else. At the end of it all, we never really know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. That’s why for me, I want to be in the moment, not thinking about what happens in the next minute, the next hour, or the next day. And I can’t, because that’s just not in my nature. I’m neurotic and analytical to a fault, and most of all, I doubt. I doubt everything, and that doubt is a poison, but also armor. I’m stuck in limbo between being jaded and being stupidly vulnerable.
And that’s just it. I’m stuck. I’m stuck between wanting to take chances, and not caring enough to be a fool over and over again. I’m going to turn 28 next week, and I still have no idea what it is I’m supposed to be doing in terms of this, so all I want for the time being is to live in whatever momentary bliss I can find, and if I have to lie to myself every once in a while, so be it. The only person I can hurt is myself right? That can’t be that bad.
Is this a lasting treasure?
Or just a moment’s pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?
No one really knows, but ignorance is a special sort of bliss.