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Making Believe – Kitty Wells

Kitty Wells - Cowboys and Indians Magazine

About the Song

“Making Believe” by Kitty Wells is a classic country song from 1955 that tells the story of a heartbroken woman. Here’s a breakdown of the song’s themes:

Heartbreak and Denial: The lyrics paint a picture of a woman clinging to the memory of a love that’s gone. She “makes believe” that her lover still loves her, even though she knows it’s not true. This denial is a common coping mechanism for dealing with heartbreak.

Lost Dreams and Unfulfilled Plans: The song talks about “plans for the future” that will never come true. This highlights the sense of loss and disappointment that accompanies a broken relationship.

Yearning and Longing: Despite the heartbreak, the woman can’t stop loving her ex. The lyrics “Spending my lifetime loving you, making believe” express a deep longing and a wish for things to be different.

The Power of Imagination: “Making Believe” shows how imagination can be a double-edged sword. While it offers solace by creating a fantasy world, it can also hinder the healing process by delaying acceptance of reality.

Here are some additional details that might pique your interest:

  • Kitty Wells: Often referred to as the “Queen of Country Music,” Wells was a pioneer for female artists in the genre. “Making Believe” was one of her biggest hits.
  • Musical Style: The song is a classic country ballad with a simple melody and a focus on storytelling. The steel guitar adds a melancholic touch.
  • Cultural Impact: “Making Believe” resonated with many listeners who had experienced heartbreak. It helped solidify country music’s ability to express emotional vulnerability.

Why Kitty Wells Matters - Gwarlingo

Video 

Lyrics: Making Believe 

Making believe that you still love me
It’s leavin’ me alone and so blue
But I’ll always dream still I’ll never own you
Making believe it’s all I can doCan’t hold you close when you’re not with me
You’re somebody’s love you’ll never be mine
Making believe I’ll spend my lifetime
Loving you and making believe

Making believe that I never lost you
But my happy hours I find are so few
My plans for the future will never come true
Making believe what else can I do

Can’t hold you close when you’re not with me
You’re somebody’s love you’ll never be mine
Making believe I’ll spend my lifetime
Loving you and making believe

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“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SITTING HERE DRINKING PENDLETON WITH TOBY KEITH.” I remember watching Toby Keith walk into those lights and thinking, That’s Toby Keith. To the crowd, it was just another show. To me, it was the reason I picked up a guitar in the first place. Opening for him before he passed in 2024 wasn’t just a gig — it felt like a rite of passage. But what I’ll carry forever didn’t happen on stage. It happened on his bus in Richmond, sitting there thinking, I can’t believe I’m drinking Pendleton with Toby Keith, listening to him talk about the road and the USO like it was just another chapter, not a legend. When we lost him, country lost a giant. I lost a mentor. Sometimes the greatest gift a legend can give you isn’t advice. It’s a seat at the table.

“I JUST WANT TO SING IT THE WAY I ALWAYS HAVE.” That’s what Toby Keith said. No dramatic pause. No swelling music behind the statement. Just a simple sentence delivered the way he delivered everything else in his life — straight and unpolished. And somehow, that simplicity made the room feel heavier than any grand farewell ever could. This final night wasn’t built around spectacle. There were no fireworks designed to distract from reality, no desperate swing for nostalgia. What filled the air instead was something steadier — grit. The kind that comes from songs that rode shotgun through people’s hardest seasons, songs that were there when nothing else quite knew what to say. You could hear the difference in the pauses. See it in the way the audience didn’t rush to clap, as if they were afraid to interrupt something sacred. Every lyric landed slower, deeper, not because he sang it differently, but because time had added weight to every word. These weren’t just melodies anymore. They were years. Memories. Battles fought quietly. It didn’t feel like a goodbye wrapped in sorrow. It felt like a man standing exactly where he had always stood — not retreating, not reinventing himself to soften the moment. Just singing it straight. Letting the songs do the heavy lifting. Trusting them to say the things he never needed to spell out. And maybe that was the most Toby Keith thing of all. No grand exit. No final speech. Just the music — steady, honest, and strong enough to carry everything.

Ginger Alden still wore the 11 1/2 carat diamond ring when she later spoke about that August afternoon, her voice steady but forever marked by what she had seen. She had been preparing for a future with Elvis Presley, planning a wedding, imagining a life beyond the noise of fame. Instead, she found herself standing at the edge of a moment that would divide her world into before and after.

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“I JUST WANT TO SING IT THE WAY I ALWAYS HAVE.” That’s what Toby Keith said. No dramatic pause. No swelling music behind the statement. Just a simple sentence delivered the way he delivered everything else in his life — straight and unpolished. And somehow, that simplicity made the room feel heavier than any grand farewell ever could. This final night wasn’t built around spectacle. There were no fireworks designed to distract from reality, no desperate swing for nostalgia. What filled the air instead was something steadier — grit. The kind that comes from songs that rode shotgun through people’s hardest seasons, songs that were there when nothing else quite knew what to say. You could hear the difference in the pauses. See it in the way the audience didn’t rush to clap, as if they were afraid to interrupt something sacred. Every lyric landed slower, deeper, not because he sang it differently, but because time had added weight to every word. These weren’t just melodies anymore. They were years. Memories. Battles fought quietly. It didn’t feel like a goodbye wrapped in sorrow. It felt like a man standing exactly where he had always stood — not retreating, not reinventing himself to soften the moment. Just singing it straight. Letting the songs do the heavy lifting. Trusting them to say the things he never needed to spell out. And maybe that was the most Toby Keith thing of all. No grand exit. No final speech. Just the music — steady, honest, and strong enough to carry everything.

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Ginger Alden still wore the 11 1/2 carat diamond ring when she later spoke about that August afternoon, her voice steady but forever marked by what she had seen. She had been preparing for a future with Elvis Presley, planning a wedding, imagining a life beyond the noise of fame. Instead, she found herself standing at the edge of a moment that would divide her world into before and after.

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