Eagles
I Can't Tell You Why

So clear and vivid in my mind that it could be yesterday, but 30 years have passed. My room, in my parents' house, I know it by heart in the dark. Even the words that that night seemed unknown to me, although I had been hearing them for twelve years.

"Watch us, girl, we're staying up all night destroying our love. Aren't we the same two people who went through dark years?"

I recognized you again in the traits of love, changeable, authentic, raw, but always love. Renewed, fueled, it steps back to then reach you and breaks at the end, but it is always love.

"Every time I try to leave something makes me come back and stay, and I can't tell you why"

Neither can I tell you why. There are many, perhaps a thousand, whys for which I cannot find answers.

I can’t tell you why, but I found myself thinking of you during many empty passages of my existence, but also that day when the world seemed to hang on my words.

I can’t tell you why and how, but when something is done well, you can feel it already in the mix; you don't need finely chiseled silver trays to present it to the public.

I can’t tell you why, but I woke up in the dead of night while the radio, in the silence of my room, suggested your warm notes. Half asleep in the warmth of the covers, I traveled in a semi-conscious state on the apostrophes, anticipating in my mind the perfect timing of your rhythms and your words, each time soaked with new meanings. You appeared even more beautiful, but I can't tell you why.

I can’t tell you why, but when Felder began to glide the strings of the Gibson, I suspected he knew all my deepest secrets.

The guitar like a helm steers the ship in the darkness of the night, that time that speaks honestly to my soul, time witness to your labor in long nocturnal sessions. Born in the shadow of success, already granted three years earlier on the dusty Highway 19, you wander like a soul in oblivion through the narrow confines of my room.

But every shadow is a child of the light. The one reflecting on the black key pressed by Frey and the one in Schmit's eyes when he realized, once stepping in, that it would be a blazing debut. A blinding light that one night 30 years ago dazzled my room in the middle of the night and I can't tell you why.

Oh no, I really can't tell you, but I certainly know that sometimes a love song tells love better than love itself.