My hands are shaking tonight. I'm infused with a powerful cocktail of too much caffeine and pre-show jitters. Still happens sometimes. There's a lot going on in my head, and it's difficult to find my center. I've decided to play some older material, see how the old friends are doing. I start the evening off with an improv. Need to see where I'm at.
It's a quiet night. A close friend has accompanied me. I'm very glad she's here, and I always enjoy her company and our talks. She will be my rock tonight. You can't be strong every day, as much as you pretend to be. I'm very good at pretending sometimes.
The second song I play has been with me for a long time. I still love it's simple beauty. This song was written inside of a Mexican restaurant, during an open mic night.
That restaurant is now a parking lot.
Things change.
I wrote it for a girl who that night professed that I was the most wonderful guy she had ever met. She confessed that she loved me, and always would.
We broke up a month later.
We'd talk about how she wanted to be in a relationship where she was no longer considered just a sexual prize, one where she would be loved for who she really was. I understood and respected this, having recently emerged from a relationship where love seemed to always be measured by the amount of scratches on my back.
She would cry sometimes when we talked.
We decided to take our time. Really get to know each other first. We knew that when that precious unveiling occurred, it would be ours, and ours alone. It would be powerful. It would be love.
A few weeks later. She felt things were going too slow. She didn't feel wanted, since I hadn't tried to ravish her with my affections already like everyone else always had. Was she not pretty enough? Had she done something wrong? I found out about this much later, and much too late. This was a conversation we never had.
I wanted her.
I felt that physical need for her every time I saw her move.
Was trying to be respectful of her tears.
Didn't want her to feel used again.
A friend of hers obliged her and her need before I knew our relationship had ended.
She felt wanted again for a moment.
He left when he was done.
He never called.
She felt used.
Was now looking for a man who would love and respect her for who she was, faults and all. Someone who wouldn't consider her just another sexual prize.
She called off and on for a while. Sometimes she asked why every man she had ever met always ended up using her, without exception. I would just listen.
She's happily married now. Amazing husband, beautiful children. A good life filled with lots of love and smiles.
I'm glad that she doesn't feel used any more.
Next song.
I revisit a lot of beautiful moments in my mind as I continue to play. The time my oldest niece learned to walk. The time I hosted an open mic and was so proud of those petrified souls performing for the first time, that I wrote a song about it. And of course, there are always songs of love.
Looking up from my little reverie I see my friend, all smiles, dilligently attacking her homework but taking a few small moments to take some pictures of me. She and her husband are always so supportive. It's good to have them in my life as I explore these new places I am learning to call home.
In the very back, I see a young couple. All smiles and handholding, and lost in the potential future they witness in each other's eyes. She is shy, pensive, with plain but very pretty features. He is more like fire. His gaze is intense, but not as much as I think it normally is. He's softer with her. She makes him softer, I think. Allows him to be gentle. He makes her braver, and she feels confdent enough to be able to trust and love with him. They move subtly to the soft rhythms of the music, but aren't consciously aware of anything but their heat, and a shared touch.
Love can be beautiful.
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