When I first saw youNo one told me Jack Johnson grew a beard. Maybe save for Switchfoot, I've spent a lot of time away from quiet music recently because I didn't deserve quiet music and instead I immersed myself in screaming anger and incessant power.
I was deep in clean blue water
The sun was shining
Calling me to come and see you
I touched your soft skin
And you jumped in
With your eyes closed
And a smile upon your face
I have forgotten where I'm going with this. I'm distracted tonight. My hands hurt from the dish soap. It's so harsh and I still found myself hurriedly scrubbing the few things that don't fit in the time machine, the rush to return to the comfort of the living room causing me to forget to put on gloves. Then suddenly it's eight and there are lunches to make and showers to supervise and dogs to walk and the evening disappears in a flurry of sundaes promised but never fetched and now the thought is in my head of a peanut-sprinkled hot fudge vanilla ice cream bowl and I can't remove it so instead I spent a few minutes on the top floor, all to myself, admiring the wall to wall white carpets and the walk-in closets because I'm used to hardwood, no storage, if you please and so I hung my new dresses with room to spare and then I came out and turned off the light and closed the door.
The closet has a window, you know, that's how big it is.
Oh and the anger is in my head. Unquiet as always. Quiet on the outside, mayhem on the in.
Do I deserve some quiet or should I go force more angry music into my head? Is it time to enjoy things or am I too busy holding on to fear and remembering to be grateful so that I don't become complacent. I never want to appear to take anything for granted ever, to the point that I would hang a sign around my neck just in case there was even an inkling that someone might think otherwise.
When I let my guard down, things go wrong and I'll be strung up high until the moment comes when everything goes black in a single blink without enough time to feel regret.
Trust me, I've proven it over and over. I won't tempt fate ever again. I love Ben and he's here and we're together and I'm not going to risk his love on trying to fulfill your ridiculous perception of what optimism means so just, please, let it go. I know life. I've lived life. While you were in your bubble, mine had already smashed upon the rocks and I've been loose for years, wandering alone. Sometimes alone. Sometimes now I have company in my alone and that's him.
When I saw Ben this afternoon I noticed the lurch is still there. The one where my heart snaps gently against my ribcage from the inside and almost knocks me over. Plaid. Flannel. Beard. Smile. Love. All the wonderful things I missed all day and then I am rewarded with my kiss for being good and still being present and productive and then we come home and family time settles in and there's a new routine forming. We lost the bath one, we lost some of the late night talks because we've shifted so that we're up with the sun and asleep with the sun which is healthier anyway. Routines will be molded and fine-tuned as we go.
Maybe some quiet music in my head to sleep by. I will do my best.