Ode to my Forever Friend, my Constant Companion.

Music,

It’s been many years since I’ve written you – although we are never apart, forever together.

You’re like an imaginary friend with no physical body. I guess if I had to explain what you look like or feel like – I would say that you are like the caress of the wind. You are able to touch without a physical presence. So, thank you for your magic and your wonder.

Your words have helped me to realize that I’m not alone in many things that I’ve felt over the course of my life and those ties that bind have helped me to sustain my belief in humanity – helped me to always remember that at the core, we all feel.

You also sustained my belief that love exists. I don’t know that I can say that I’ve felt that earth-shattering, out of this world love connection with anyone yet, but I remember how many times you’ve sung about it – in different genres. So, I trust that you know what you’re talking about. After all – how could there have been that many loves worth singing about and not one for me? So, I believe.

I appreciate that you’re ever-changing, but also constant. We’ve grown together over the years. Evolving and maintaining all at once – into forever.

I don’t imagine that we will ever run out of silence, sounds, words, or even time. That lets me know that you are one of few people or things that will truly follow me to the end. This brings me ultimate peace. It would only be right that the presence that was the soundtrack of my life would be there with me to meet my death.

I appreciate the high echoes of your piano notes, and the low timbre of your guitar strokes.

You’ve made me cry.

You’re made me laugh.

You’ve reassured me.

You’ve reminded me.

You’ve taught me.

You’ve made me smile.

You’ve made me hum.

Most of all – you’ve made me dance.

You’ve held my hand for a long time.

I’ll be feeling you – in the next song, always in the next song.

–S.

Ode to the Love of my Life.

At the time this letter was written – I referred to music as the love of my life, but as I’m healing – I realize that I AM the love of my life. Now, I would say that music is probably my oldest friend, my forever companion. My mother told me that I have loved music for as long as she can remember.

Music,

When I think back to my earliest memories, there was you.

On my hand I can count the number of things in my life that have been constant and you always make the top five.

Thank you for staying up with me when I couldn’t sleep. Thank you for keeping secrets. Thank you for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for picking the best movies. Thank you for your words of wisdom and strength when I could not put together my own. Thank you for being a distraction right before my biggest presentations. Thank you for studying with me. Thank you for crying with me. Thank you for thousands of drives around the city. Thank you for blocking out sounds that I didn’t want to hear. Thank you for nights out on the town. Thank you for always being around for road trips.

Thank you for your consistency –  summer, winter, spring, and fall.

Thank you for being there for the transition periods within my life, and for moving schools with me. Thank you for sleeping with me when there was no one. Thank you for being my someone. Thank you for using no words when the situation called for that. Thank you for always knowing the right words to say. Thank you for understanding heartbreaks, and the times that I ran back to the wrong people. Thank you for being my friend when I felt that I was the only person in a room full of people.

You walk with me in everything I do.

I am forever grateful to you because you have shown me true love. You heighten every situation. I don’t know where you end, and where I begin. It has always been us two.

Your whispers in the dark. Your yells in the night. Your repetition when you think I can’t hear you.

Sometimes, I overlooked you in moments when I thought I found something close to your existence, but more than ever I remember how in love we have been, how in love we are, and how in love I hope we will be.

Wherever you are, I am home. You are everything. Everything is you.

Music, even if we never get that old thing back, I want you to know that you are and always have been the love of my life.

Yours,

–S.

What if it was supposed to be me?

Harvey Milk said:

“Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.”

Sometimes I wonder what if I tried one more time?

What if I told you that I was sorry?

What if I told you that I missed you every second of every day (and even the intervals between seconds), that I loved you so much that sometimes I just didn’t even notice it, not like an afterthought, but because it was that much a part of me, it was just a part of my existence, like breathing. ?

You were necessary like breathing to me.

What if I showed up one more time? What if I looked into your eyes one more time?

I am forgetting what your voice sounds like.

I am forgetting what your laugh sounds like.

I looked up one of your social media accounts.

I saw you with your new girlfriend.

You love her so much, you wrote.

You love her family as well.

She’s supportive and kind and crazy about you.

And that’s all good and well. It really is.

But I can’t shake the fact that I should’ve been the one holding your hand forever.

What if it was supposed to be me?

–S.

You Are.

YOU are

photons in the dark,

beauty in a sea of ugly,

a rose growing from concrete,

rain in a drought,

sunshine in the winter,

love in the midst of hate,

pleasure erasing pain.

YOU are,

more than I ever fantasized about,

better than my dreams,

my one,

bursting at the seams.

YOU are,

the music to my every lyric,

I’ll shout it from the mountain top,

I want the whole world to hear it.

–S.

Safe Places.

The room is clean, a candle is burning – the scent is eroko wood and moss. It is raining outside, and a ‘Relaxing Hang Drum Music for Meditation and Yoga’ video is playing from YouTube on my other tab.

I am on my period, bra-less, with tied up wet hair, wearing a face mask.

The scene is perfect for the pouring out of hearts. A safe place.

I find that although I have people that I would deem safe places for sharing – I still find myself censoring and toning down what is really in my heart and on my spirit.

So, to me, writing is the ultimate safe place.

My ultimate safe place.

–S.

Have you ever?

Have you ever wanted to stuff everything you could into a backpack and get on the next bus running?

Look out of of the window until everything blurs into one?

Not even have to think?

See if the wind feels differently against your skin somewhere else. See if the sun rises using different colors. See if the smile that people give you actually reaches their eyes. Find out if the night sounds play a different melody.

Does the moon still watch you?

I am here,

but I am also on the bus.

I am still running.

–S.

Clean.

Bathe me in flowers.

Bathe me with your arms.

Bathe me in your breath.

Bathe me with your flesh.

Bathe me with your love.

Bathe me with your trust.

Bathe me in your honesty.

Bathe me in your nearness.

Surround me with candles.

Surround me with your scent.

Surround me with your dreams.

Surround me with your fantasies.

Build me up with your inspiration.

Build me up with your touch.

Build me up with your promise.

I bask in your glory.

I fall at your feet.

I run my fingers through your hair,

I am home,

I am here.

–S.

The Light is Leaving their Eyes.

I’m an old fashioned fool when it comes to love.

What I mean by that is – I’d prefer to bump into your cart at the grocery store in the produce section while I’m picking out lettuce – not on Tinder or Plenty of Fish.

That seems to not be the way of the world anymore and it makes it harder for old school fools like me.

Currently: Still waiting at the grocery store for my husband to show up.

Most of my friends are in relationships, married, and/or have kids. Or some combination of that.

The friends who are not in a relationship – are on some form of online dating application.

And from what I’ve been able to gather from their stories over the years – it’s awful.

It goes a little something like this.

The flame is ignited, the wax slowly making its way up and down the sides of the candle.

He lives with his parents right now, but he’s in school. He loves his dog, they’re best friends. A super adorable labradoodle.

He’s working two jobs, such a hard-worker. Saving up to buy a house.

He’s a military vet, currently working towards becoming a police officer.

He’s 30, no kids, a miracle right?

He’s been responding with pretty long messages. The conversation seems to be flowing.

He actually wants to know things about me, hasn’t mentioned sex at all.

The bits and pieces of men you’ve never met intrigue you until you find the one that keeps your attention for longer than one conversation.

The candlelight glows hungrily in their eyes at this point – the ‘Could this really be it, possibly the one?’ Light.

Some meet instantly, others after weeks and months of conversation. Texting turns into phone calls that turn into video chats.

Sometimes you’re lucky to meet in a public place and you’re shocked that you’re actually on a date. Sometimes awkward, sometimes okay.

Sometimes you’re unfortunate and asked to meet at their place and you hesitate because you know this usually means they are only after one thing – sex.

Sometimes your luck is downright shitty shit and you’re asked to meet in a Walmart parking lot or something on the same level of WTF as that.

The flame burns, but it flickers. Not glowing as strongly as it did when your conversation first started – the fantasy in your head not living up to the reality.

The date was awkward and could have gone better, but some conversation is better than no conversation. Plus, aren’t most first dates awkward, anyway?

You really didn’t want to be the girl who has sex on the first night, but the intimacy of a physical human connection keeps your flame burning.

The parking lot is mostly empty, except for an RV Camper, an 18 – wheeler and two handfuls of late night shoppers and employees. Although you both have your own place and there are several places you can think of off the top of your head that you could have stopped into for a bite to eat or a drink that seem better than a Walmart parking lot, the potential that this could be something more propels you forward. Plus, the breeze in the still of the night, the glow coming off of the lights, and the cars zooming past you on the highway could sorta be seen as romantic, right? Right. Positive Thinking.

The flame doesn’t grow as brightly as it once did. We’re almost at the end of the candle.

He never calls or texts after the date. You dissect every second of it. Do you chew with your mouth open? Not that you can recall. Should you have worn the v-neck instead of the higher neckline? Do you look like your profile pictures? Maybe he was disappointed about that.

The conversation dies after the sex, but the sex continues. The only messages he sends now are sexual in nature and wondering when he can see you next to bed you again. You go anyway. Something is better than nothing and maybe the conversation will pick up again.

You’re in his car now, grateful that the parking lot is mostly deserted. While he’s running his hands down your body and grunting in your ear – you can’t help but recall that he never asked for your name. He doesn’t even know your name and he’s spilling himself all over your hand. He groans out an emotionless ‘baby.’ Any optimism or wishful thinking you were feeling dies in the moment he calls you ‘baby.’ And you think that you will never shop at a Walmart ever again.

The flame is dying, the light is leaving their eyes.

I wonder who is closer to love – is it me, hopeful while picking out lettuce or is it the girl with the message notification on her phone from 29 year-old Thomas who likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain and thinks that’s still a catchy bio?

I don’t know the answer.

I’m just asking.

How do you know when you’re close to love?

How do you know when love has finally decided to pick you?

–S.