“Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
Others only read of the love, the love that I love.”
The economic beauty of a song lyric. The last line of a poem. The way it hits – da-DUM! – that heart thud reveal. It’s why we write a thousand lines. To get to this. To you. Sifted letters, finger trickles, and pounded keys – this constant turning over words. Just to get to this. To you.
And I …
You and I.
Not so little you and I, anymore.
A stranger said hey, what’s it about – but you looked like a shot was fired. A gun powder flash across the face. My bullet lodged. Da-DUM!
I wrote a book.
And I never got to thank you.
“Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of, and if you could see me now
well then I’m almost finally out of
I’m finally out of, finally …
well I’m almost finally, finally, out of words.”
– Jason Mraz
Banksy – Suicide Butterflies
And tides ‒ they turn ‒ and hearts disfigure
But that’s no concern when we’re wounded together
Unexpected intimacy. You take my hand and we dance. It is my favourite song and you sing in my ear, you get the words wrong and it makes me laugh. We are lighter than we have ever been – for these 5 minutes and 38 seconds we are any couple in any place in any kind of love.
I am in some kind of wonder. In my arms you are fully present. You are here. Here we are. The entire world is contained in our pressing palms. All the little bruises disappear in those 5 minutes and 38 seconds. And always, after, I wish I had played the live version, how we could have had an extra two and a half minutes of this beautiful mess. But we have 5 minutes and 38 seconds just the same.
If I ever wrote any truth – if I ever lived it – here it is. Here we are. I would do it all again for just this moment. To feel and to know. What a beautiful mess this is.