Remember the record player? the record player you bought two years after I had been telling you how much I wanted one. The same one you purchased two months after our love broke. Perhaps so you could still keep a piece of me, there against the window, soaking up the stream of sunlight that used to dance across your wooden floors and my lap; perhaps just as bait to bring me back. Remember how you bought it broken, just to have it fixed? And how, even after months of playing Ryan Adams, I couldn’t figure out for the life of me just how to turn it on. So I would plea for help- sweets! my voice echoed along the corridors of your apartment. You always listened. So I learned to sing to you: And you and I were dancing in the dirty rain, my voice would carry over the words, and in the kitchen, with my feet placed on top of yours and my arms around your neck, that day we danced the first dance we’d never get to have.
I want to be your keys
to have you look that intently at all the spaces
lying within me.
I wish you were my guitar
so I could pick you up whenever I’m sad
I’d like to tug your strings, learn each of your sounds,
burn them into my memory until you became my song,
my life’s melody.
“It was passed from one bird to another, the whole gift of the day…
When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography”
– Pablo Neruda
In my often hippie-like, impulsive and totally uninhibited awe of mother nature, birds always seem to get most of my love. How many times I’ve seen them fly over my head and desired to be flying alongside them! Now Spring Break is over and I’m wishing I could fly away, continue my course towards whatever distant land I’m seeking for and find shelter somewhere beautiful and dark; Away from everyone but the few loved ones that made the journey there with me.
(The post wouldn’t be complete without a little song from Mr. Bird himself! #I’mjustthatcheesy).