I don't listen to the music on the radio anymore, because I have it all on my ipod, the songs we used to listen to, to sing out loud to in the car, in the house, and I can't make it more than a few days before reaching deep into the vault and pulling out the stuff that stirs up the memories, good or bad, that keep you in my heart where you always will be. Oh the enormous gratitude I have for the beautiful gifts of this life such as music, and it's powerful, permanent and perfect ability to cross time, language, space and the reality of the fucked up situation that this is and make me remember the first time I heard that song and you were there and it became ours. Thank God for that.
I loved the way we would always try and outsmart each other, we both like children engaged in our own fantasy and growth and architecture of a love that always wanted to push each other up, onward, forward into our dreams. I never wanted to let you down. I still don't. How passionately I go looking for that challenging, loving dialogue and test again, but find mostly the vacant, timid and fearful majority, brilliantly flashing just long enough to taste what it was, but is no more. That flame that could ignite like gasoline, poured fresh between us on the concrete, blown up high and fast and toxic in the fumes that neither you nor I would back away from long enough to give the other enough oxygen to breathe. Why is it that I couldn't ever stop us from lighting that fire? Why couldn't we? Will you set the ground ablaze again, wherever it is you travel to? Will I? Will we ever have the chance to look eye to eye again and preserve the space and temper the flame and know again what it is like to be young and beautiful, to be happy and careless, caring only about each other's laughter?
The street is colder now, and from the depths of this winter it's hard to catch a glimpse of what should be up above, soaring through the sunbursts on golden wings. And I don't want to look up too often, knowing both that what I'm looking for may not be there up in flight, or if it is this time it might just be the last time I ever set eyes on a vision so perfect that I won't have the wherewithal to know that it simply won't last forever.
But forever is, and eternal breathes into my soul every day, no matter how many times I have been broken in half, or saddened and cowered in the shame of the times I tried to do the breaking. I often feel like my horns twist and turn and grow and aim to break every dish in the entire shop when in fact the aisles are wide, and the surroundings so beautiful if only I could stay composed and calm and walk the line that was designed to allow me to pass gracefully.
I don't know any answers, but I know that there is a flame, and it's never going to burn out, and it reminds me that there is a light I cannot see.