The other day I got in my car to drive to a local coffee shop. It is a place I like to frequent because the energy is strong, and I feel closer to her when I am there. As I drove out of my parking lot, I didn’t think about George Harrison’s ‘All Things Must Pass’ until pulling up to a red light, and realizing the impact of the song and how fitting the moment might be. Instead of turning around, I kept driving forward because on this day, I just wanted to be there. I could feel the moment . I was convinced I wasn’t alone.
Music is a major force in my life. When I wish to write in a certain mindset I will carefully select the genre of music I listen to. So listening to Harrison speak of moving forward and recognizing the beauty of what has occurred was poignant and yet I resisted its reality despite myself. The outcome of my night. I drank a cup of coffee, wrote a couple of pieces, and watched cars pull in and out of the coffee shop for a few hours before going home. I wasn’t upset, I was simply trying to piece life together.
On my way home, Paul McCartney’s ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ played the final miles of my drive. Yes I had tears, and yes they felt cleansing. I was going through something, and music as it always does brought me somewhere that left me feeling ok, and allowed me to imagine that she was ok as well. I hoped as much.
I had begun that Friday night compelled to not write any letters, and yet, in a moment of weakness I did write a letter, and as soon as I sent it I felt like I had made a mistake. The mistake was not in my expression of love, it was more in my struggle with separation and peace. I wanted to believe I wasn’t alone in what I was feeling, and the quiet and silence I was receiving left me nervous and sad. I felt a disconnect from our last interaction and I knew in my heart the reason.
I asked for an explanation and didn’t expect to receive one.
The next morning, her words arrived for my eyes, and I laid in bed with sweet tears. I listened to her reason for silence and it made complete sense. I wanted to hold her and let her know I recognized her need for peace, I wanted her to know I understood, I wished she might be able to see that I was ok, and I only wanted to know that she was ok. In the end her last line gave me a certain soft place to land, as I read it over and over again and paid attention to the acknowledgment of love.
I do wish so much that we could express our beauty in the elegance of what we found with each other, and yet I respect we cannot, always. We can sometimes, and we know that there will be times that the support we give one another will far outweigh the support we seemingly lack in our real lives. So the confusion continues, yet not as severely, more assuredly meant to let our lives evolve.
I still miss her.
I still listen to the Bridge.
Driving home tonight I listened to ELO’s – telephone line – ❤️
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apersonaljourney - stories of love 