I haven’t been able to stop listening to Panic! at the Disco’s new song “Impossible Year.” I couldn’t help imagine some beautiful, tortured love song beyond the words, so I had to write it down.
“There’s no sunshine, this impossible year, only black days and skies grey, and clouds full of fear, and storms full of sorrows that won’t disappear. Just typhoons and monsoons, this impossible year.”
A cold January morning, the first lights of the day an illusion on the horizon. The freezing rain pours down, leaving tear tracks on the window pane. He holds her tight, wrapped in blankets and each other. They don’t say anything — they just remember.
She remembers: a coffee shop in October, a lifetime ago. Thoughts of school and her future cluttered her mind, her vision, until — he was there, picking her up and never letting her go again.
He remembers: a coffee shop in October, a lifetime ago. Thoughts of the band, the music, the bills, cluttered his mind, his hearing, until — she was there, calling to him and never letting him go deaf again.
They remember: October, November, December. They remember: bated breaths, sweet smiles, hopeful hearts.
They try to forget: the fights, the arguments, the silent nights, the lonely mornings.
“There’s no good times, this impossible year, just a beachfront of bad blood, a coast that’s unclear.”
She remembers: the beach in November, the rocky shoreline, the rough waves. She remembers his warm arms, his warmer looks, his warmest heart.
He remembers: the beach in November, the sharp wind, attempting — and failing — to steal his breath, for she had already stolen it. He remembers her smile, breaking up the darkest clouds, sending fire straight into his freezing heart.
They remember: the bike rides, the movie nights, the quiet longing.
They try to forget: the disapproving looks, the hateful jealousy, the bitter words.
“All the guests at the party, they’re so insincere. They just intrude and exclude, this impossible year.”
She remembers: dancing in dresses, in jeans, in pajamas, in nothing at all. She remembers the steps, the motions, what it felt like to be held.
He remembers: her laugh, her voice her humming. He remembers the notes, the melodies, the harmonies.
They remember the songs, the music, the lyrics. They remember the duets
They try to forget the missteps, the missed notes, the flat tunes.
“There’s no you and me, this impossible year. Only heartache and heartbreak and gin made of tears. The bitter pill I swallow, the scars souvenir. That tattoo, your last bruise, this impossible year.”
She remembers — she can’t forget — the drinks, each of them drowning her love, drowning him. She remembers pouring the liquid down the drain, only to find him down another. She remembers — though she tries desperately to forget — the bottles: the beer bottles, the whiskey bottles, the pill bottles.
She remembers bottling up her love.
He can’t remember. Can’t remember her tears, her pleading. He can’t remember the pain of the needle as it traced his love onto, into his skin. He can’t remember.
He can’t forget her bruises, her misery, her resignation.
“There’s never air to breathe, there’s no in-betweens, these nightmares always hang on past the dreams.”
She remembers her decision.
She tries to forget October, November, December.
He remembers her decision.
He tries to forget the pain.
He can’t forget his broken heart.
“There’s no sunshine. There’s no you and me. There’s no sunshine: This impossible year.”
—Lyrics and song: “Impossible Year” by Panic! at the Disco (X)