..how I love the way you wish upon your own stars.

One of those evenings.

I drove for a while,

No destination.

Lights trailing across wet pavement,

Music unassumingly flowing from the stereo.

I don't even know what's playing, 

The notes quickly forgotten as soon as they are created and cast forth.

Thinking of someone I know.

A gentle, kind heart.

A beautiful smile, cast in a lovely face.

She doesn't believe these things.

Timid. Kind. 

Doesn't see those things in herself.

I am very fortunate to know her.

A good person under an enormous strain.

Consider her a friend.

I wish I could help.

Not my place, though.

Can only lend an ear.

That has to be enough, I guess.

I just want her life to sing,

A lilting melody that removes the approaching shadows under her eyes.

A simple tune that makes all in attendance smile

At the realization of what life can really be.

Less light around me now, less sound.

Just a constant and quiet hum of the engine,

The persistent hum of thoughts I encounter and dissect.

Coffee in one hand, lightly burning my hand through the paper sleeve.

The slick and smooth steering wheel in the other.

I slow down before the next curve on a blackened back road.

I think of him,

A good man who tells me he doesn't know how to talk about himself.

A very honest statement coming from a gentle heart.

I pester him too much about revealing himself,

Only because I know the taste of those bitter things hiding inside.

Separations aren't easy, and all of the persistent little internal unsaids 

Can take the kindest and sensitive of us,

Twist and turn our hearts into something unrecognizable that couldn't conceivably still be 

Beating and fighting for life.

I wish more people would try and topple the towers of his fortress, that forced cool and calm exterior,

Demolish the fortified gates that block access to that still-beating heart.

He is beautiful, and has thoughts worth listening to.

He doesn't believe that.

Still capable of so much.

He can be a survivor whose heart can one day sing that song 

A subtle and moving piece,

Of hidden suns whose light we forget to reach for,

But whose warmth will eventually reach us whether we ask for it or not.

He is worth a life melody that crescendos into a resolution of happy notes. 

I can hear the music coming from my stereo.

Fitting song. Turn it up after I finish the last of my now cold coffee.

Light has surrounded me on my drive once more.

No longer driving in such a darkened place.

Other travelers on a busy road surround me.

The sounds of their passing and the soft illumination of city lights feels good.

The light feels good again.

It's not a subtle realization.

Those words hit my guts so hard that it almost hurts a little.

I want to remind both of the beautiful souls on my mind tonight that

Being loved is never too much to ask for.

I need to remind myself too.

The light can feel good again.

self-portraits drawn with eyes closed.

Sometimes I am too high strung.

Sometimes at work I am an idiot.

I often don't like the person I become in those daylight hours,

Some sort of vicious lycanthrope who knows it all and is very opinionated.

During those times I pray for night to fall.

I want to let out that deep, soul shaking sigh,

Fall back into my timid ways.

Just be me.

Not worrying about everything.

I realized that the more substantial I feel the quieter I become.

I fight a daily personal war for survival in the workplace.

I turn myself into something I'm not.

I don't like it. It is how I get by.

Those who know me at work and those who know me personally have experienced two very different creatures.

The beast of the daylight hours is very vocal, very brash, very driven.

Very scared.

All these people around. I am uncomfortable.

Deep down I wonder if I should even be here. I care too much and can't let go of the smallest things.

Forget what deep breaths are like.

The person I know myself to be when the sun sets is 

Quiet, friendly, a little unassuming.

Very shy. Very loving. Very forgiving. 

Not very opinionated.

Humble. Not so crass.

Looks forward to long walks and even longer drives late at night.

Looks forward to those beautiful conversations.

Can't wait for more of those moments that make me write the music that I know I can.

I am older than I pretend to be,

Not as old as I sometimes feel.

I am scared.

I think I have reasons why I dove back into that daylight life headfirst recently. 

I have secrets.

I don't want them.

They are there.

This is part of getting older, I hear.

I drove back the old personal demons.

Unknowingly created new regrets.

 

This time I'm not trying to forget, but understand.

Maybe we're all scared, sometimes.

Maybe we don't really pay attention to our effect on others,

Maybe we are wrapped up in ourselves.

It can hurt to open our arms and hearts to another.

Maybe I need to forgive myself a little more.

Maybe I will be kinder to others in the daylight,

and not just when I feel better in the twilight.

Maybe none of this makes sense to anyone else.

Tonight it makes sense to me.

..the prettiest of wishes, like flowers, laid across your grave

I went to a memorial service the other day,
It felt like a high school reunion.
He was a good soul.
He fell through the cracks of everyone else's lives.
He was truly one made of light,
of all the good things I want to be someday.

In the end it didn't matter.

I wanted him to win.
He, above most others,
Was always worth that.

No one ever said any of this would be fair.

It was a beautiful service.
The images of an all too short life displayed on a projector.
A voice heard one last time,
Taken from a radio broadcast.
A captured moment in time,
Never repeated.

We smile. We laugh. It's like he is still here.
Except that it took a bullet to his brain
For most of us to take some time out of our more important and self-involved lives
To spend a moment with him.

I hear the stories about how he was always present,
Always caring, always loving.
Always selfless.

I wonder if that is why he didn't win.
Played with his own shadows for too long,
They showed him a few things.
At the end of the day,
He was loving and all alone.

He deserved better than we could provide.

This is no place for the good and virtuous.
We'll feed on you until we've had our fill.
When we're done we'll move on.
It's what we do.

I wish it wasn't like that.
This should have been a place for the dignified and honorable to grow,
Nourished like spring flowers after a long rain.
Not achingly reaching for a sun that we have been told lives above those threatening clouds,
Not grasping blindly in the dust and dirt for some sustainance.

It was never supposed to be like this.

We could talk all we want about the pretty things,
But when it comes down to taking time for that sacred moment,
Giving a good man like him a chance,
We have better things to do.

Don't we.

This has been rattling around in my dusty brain for weeks.
Came to a vicious conclusion two days ago.
Music has been flowing freely ever since about these things.
It took a death to inspire me again.
See?
I'm no better.

I feel terrible for his family,
His closest friends.
They are sweet, loving.
They loved him dearly.
They deserve some peace, some love.

The rest of us have no right to be there.
Maybe we do.
Stare it straight in the eye.
Maybe learn a thing or two.

I watch as it quickly turns into a reunion, drinking and chatting.
"It is what he would have wanted."
Perhaps.
I'm ready to go.
People from my past emerge.
They are chatty. I pretend to be.
It is good to see them, but not the place or time.

This time it should be about him.
The one who should have won.
But it never is, is it? At least not for long.
It just has to be about the rest of us..

It should be better than this.
It's time to go.

such a pretty little partridge, found buried under the remains of your name

I think we all get a little crazy sometimes.

How could you not..
Sometimes the flows of a life are unnerving, uncomfortable,
Unflinchingly bitter,
Unbelievably sweet.

Whether it is in the moments that your heart feels as if it could burst from the joy contained within,
And you can no longer understand someone's fascination with shadow play:
You become so happy that you lose the perspective of pain.
You think everyone should feel this way;
Just revel in the ages of the shining sun.
Just smile more.

Maybe it's in those other moments;
You, A quiet exterior,  calm serenity, a little aloofness.
Your hidden places are chaos;
Clawing, gnashing, screaming in your guts,
Walking the thin line between shy sadness and hysterics. It may change at a moment's notice.
You think everyone should feel this way;
You've lost all recollection of light;
Find the bright things to be a humorless parody,
A small diversion before reality sets in again.

I was in a bookstore at night,
Breathing in that intoxicating smell of printed paper.
Saw two people standing near each other.
They couldn't have been further apart.

He is very tall, dark, medium length styled hair;
Chiseled jaw; blue eyes.
Untrusting eyes, but
Not unkind.

She is short,
close cropped reddish hair, a vivid tint that could never occur in nature.
A smile that reaches to
Sparkling green eyes.
She glows with warmth.

He alternates between offhandedly searching for a book,
And furiously texting to someone in the digital ether.
With every key he presses,
You can almost see the shadows he begins to gather 'round himself.

You can tell she is looking for that perfect gift;
Eyes scanning each title intently,
While her thumb unconsciously plays with the glittering engagement ring on her finger.

I can hear the soft click as the long, impeccably manicured nail of her thumb taps that shining gold promise.
I think it's adorable.

He hears it too.
He's agitated.
Keeps glancing over at her hand.
Brow furrows.

She notices his look.
Tries to warm him with her smile.
a beautiful grin showing white and even teeth. You could feel her light from across the room.

He tries to smile. It looks painful.
It hurts to watch.

Click.
He begins to tremble. Just a little.
Click.
His eyes narrowing, smile now absent.
Click.
His right hand absently touches the ring finger on his left, reaching for something that isn't there.
All that's there is a smooth indentation from a former gold promise.
Click.
He's looking angry now.
Click.
Click.
Click.

I think we all lose it sometimes.

He not so gently asks her to stop.
She is offended.
Angry reply.
Even angrier retort.
She walks off.
She can't understand why it annoys him so much. Can't see past her own light to the scar starting from his hand,
Reaching to his heart.
He can't understand her smiles. Doesn't want to. He can't comprehend a life outside of shadows and slow self-torture.

At least not right now.
Not yet.

I pray for them both.

I will write their song sometime soon.