Lifetimes ago, we sat together in your car in front of a Walgreens, and you told me to listen.
The CD player grumbled to life as we leaned back to look out of the not-so-starry sunroof.
And for once in my life I listened.
To a song, sure. But more so I listened to every word you wouldn’t say.
I followed the lines of my face traced through your eyes, felt your mind run its hands through my hair. Saw your lips against mine. But they weren’t there. And they never would be.
The song was done and you drove me home, but it would be weeks before I could drive the moment from my mind. You were afraid of the completion knocking at your door.
You built a home for us. In your mind. That’s nice.
Granted it was a sand castle, and high tide was about to wash it away, but you kinda put some effort forth.
Now, years and lifetimes later, I want you to listen one last time.
Let each note be a reminder of every self-induced doubt and crippling fear that has held you back until now.
And if possible, for just over six minutes, let it go.
I’ll meet you there, give you a few more minutes of proverbial life to do with what you will.
And then it’s time to leave and turn to dust.
(Song recommendtion by Jon Johnson)