If I may be so bold, I don't really agree with the sad/depressing interpretation. I think there there is too much dreaming in this song for it to be about suicide.
To me, the girl of the song is in love. Perhaps she doesn't know if he loves her back...perhaps she doesn't even know who he is yet, but she hopes...
But the dream constantly swirling around her head affects every aspect of her life. As she is walking around, she notices beautiful things (a pretty flower in a vase, a cello lying in its case), when she pours a cup of something hot, she sees the dance in the rising steam. When there is a noise outside her door, she immediately imagines that its him, or a sign of him, finally coming to weave the hope into reality.
The reason she is fighting for her life is because dreams don't often move well within a day-to-day mundane. When the notion of him brushes past her mind and plants her feet with the hope of it, she has to wake up (at least halfway) to keep them moving, to put her coat on, to get to work on time. When the daydreams lull her into the song of the rain, she has to eventually pull away from the window and keep moving among the strangers in the store to buy what she needs. This is a secret, flighty hope, a small, hidden glimmer that sets her heart pounding. And no one knows. The people passing by don't take notice of the dreaming stranger in the train, and she hides her unfounded hopes when talking to those she knows, because they are woven of sunlight and moonlight, and rendering them into words wouldn't make sense.
If I may be so bold, I don't really agree with the sad/depressing interpretation. I think there there is too much dreaming in this song for it to be about suicide.
To me, the girl of the song is in love. Perhaps she doesn't know if he loves her back...perhaps she doesn't even know who he is yet, but she hopes...
But the dream constantly swirling around her head affects every aspect of her life. As she is walking around, she notices beautiful things (a pretty flower in a vase, a cello lying in its case), when she pours a cup of something hot, she sees the dance in the rising steam. When there is a noise outside her door, she immediately imagines that its him, or a sign of him, finally coming to weave the hope into reality.
The reason she is fighting for her life is because dreams don't often move well within a day-to-day mundane. When the notion of him brushes past her mind and plants her feet with the hope of it, she has to wake up (at least halfway) to keep them moving, to put her coat on, to get to work on time. When the daydreams lull her into the song of the rain, she has to eventually pull away from the window and keep moving among the strangers in the store to buy what she needs. This is a secret, flighty hope, a small, hidden glimmer that sets her heart pounding. And no one knows. The people passing by don't take notice of the dreaming stranger in the train, and she hides her unfounded hopes when talking to those she knows, because they are woven of sunlight and moonlight, and rendering them into words wouldn't make sense.
At least, not yet.