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12 de Octubre 2009
if you need the practice
or at least a little validation
because it is not easy to tell someone how you really feel, you can sing along.
these days, when i hear the songs that were written in the language of love i am suddenly able to understand them. the trees so boldly in love with the wind in their leaves, the spiders at home in their webs, the dogs willing to run, fetch and always return, the way diamonds reflect light and sun shines through a window all make a little more sense now because they are all confessions of love,
a message meant to concede that love shows up in the oddest places and tiniest spaces, between all the living, moving parts of the hopeful machinations of a God whose first creation is love.
love is such a complicated confession. i tell you about the scent of a redwood tree in autumn and i am confessing that i love that tree, and i love to tell you about the tree, because i love you. these confessions are a wading into the waters of repentance, i take your hand and tell you i am turning toward you, away from the days when i was afraid to tell you about the smell of a tree. i am asking you to trust me, knowing full well that this is a drastic change in the way i have used these words before, that trust is always a risk and i am asking you to endure nightmares about betrayal, fend off the monstrous absence of proof, and you may at any moment climb to the top of the very tree that started all this trouble just to make sure heaven doesn't exist because i am not there...
because
sometimes the words are just so deep down
at the bottom of my shipwrecked heart, in a tiny box, that is impossible to pry open. and if the words were to surface, if you or i could raise the titanic vocabulary of the way i had hoped things would be, well, that would change everything--i know because Hope tells me this is true.
but the pressure is so great and the fear so strong the words crumble on the way to the surface, they cringe in the light of sunset as we stand on the on the sandy beach holding onto mere fragments oxidated, disintegrated, and my hands shake and i can't breathe because on the way up i was moving too fast and breathing too much and i got the bends... it is undeniably overwhelming.
it takes a certain strong kind of man to look at me and my too many little pieces of broken lines, rusty thoughts, salty, barnacled inarticulate hopes and dreams and appreciate
that this is the best thing that has ever happened to him, that i am the best thing that has ever happened to him, because it is an offering, a confession, priceless, irreplaceable, proof of the serious weight of my story, and it is enough to change how he feels his own.
those Avetts, they know how this happens and they are very helpful.
when you can't say love to each other anymore, you have to leave the place you called home because you were just calling it that, even though it wasn't. the real words for it, the strong words like hate and anger, were buried under an ocean of denial, along with the words
I and love and you
Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headed north.
One foot in and one foot back.
But it don't pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I'm in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
When at first I learned to speak.
I used all my words to fight.
With him and her and you and me.
Ahh, but it's just a waste of time.
Yeah it's such a waste of time.
That woman she's got eyes that shine.
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes.
She asked to dance I said it's fine.
I'll see you in the morning time.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I'm in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Three words that became hard to say.
I and Love and You.
What you were than I am today.
Look at the things I do.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I'm in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I'm in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Dumbed down and numbed by time and age.
You're dreams that catch the world the cage.
The highway sets the travelers stage.
All exits look the same.
Three words that became hard to say.
I and Love and You.
I and Love and You.
I and Love and You.
help yourself | By crymytinyflood | 9:40 AM
