It’s everything. It’s the storms and the scary driving and the fear, but mostly the fear of loss. It’s the way everything changes and the way I manage to feel lonely and it feels like a choice. It’s the way nothing changes and it’s the way things are left unsaid and the way people leave and never return. It’s the way parents get old and turn into grandparents who die. It’s how sometimes it’s hard to be alive because it feels like anything but being alive, but I certainly wouldn’t trade it for the alternative. It’s the way everything seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things. But mostly, it’s the way a lovely-written book and a thunderstorm can inexplicably make me feel very, very sad. It’s everything.
“It’s a rule that we never listen to sad music, we made that rule early on, songs are as sad as the listener, we hardly ever listen to music.”
I wish you and I were poets,
So that when I say you are a
Magical human being,
You’d know what I mean.
And I’d know what I mean.
Maybe it’s the way a single look
Can resonate for days.
How a glance can play
Again and again
As though holding on to just the memory of it
Maybe it’s the way you speak and think
Of important things,
And how when I think and speak,
I know I’m
Speaking and thinking
I wish we could speak of death
And the world wouldn’t turn away.
Do they not know
I’m afraid too?