What would you do if I wrote you a song...?

I am plagued by strange, random thoughts. The kind that just splash around in the pool in my head until I can finally give them a name, call them out, dry them off and send them on their way.

As of late, it's this, 'What happens to all the songs written for forgotten loves?'

I imagine this sad place of all the lovely songs written in love, passion, tenderness... never played for the adored and never meant for the unfeeling masses. Or perhaps, they are just left out in the air, ungrasped, unowned... let loose like a crow. Their sound only unwanted noise, heard over and over screeching through a closed window. Once written, always striving to be sung.

If I were a great Romantic poet, I'd liken it to some more powerful, desperately beautiful and forsaken bird. But today, I think it's a crow.