I Can’t Play The Guitar
There is a long list of things that I can’t do. I can’t play the guitar nor can I sing. I can’t play the piano or use a paintbrush to cover a canvas in colors that you can relate to. And apparently I can’t reach your heart. Can’t get you to take my call or tell me what it is that you really feel.
I see you talking to people. See you interacting with people you say you don’t respect. See you act in ways that can only be described as illogical and irrational. It used to make me really angry to see it. I’d wonder when you had taken leave of your senses or if perhaps you had done nothing but lie to me. Sometimes it was hard not to listen the whispers of insecurity and wonder who had taken you from me. It was hard not to wonder if some junky had gotten your attention or if that was just the foolish mumblings of a broken heart.
A thousand years ago you pulled me out of the hole that I had been living in and reminded me what it meant to love and be loved. You reminded me that the life I want to live is filled with hope, fire and passion. And when I climbed out and saw what had become of me I was ashamed of myself. When you looked in my eyes you saw what no one else could see and I remembered who I was and who I could be.
It was hard to be naked in front of you. I am not talking about physical nakedness but emotional. It was hard to let someone see who I really am. It scared me so very much because it felt so right. It frightened me because it felt so natural that I questioned myself.
Gradually I came to realize that it was ok and I grew comfortable with allowing you to wander unaccompanied and unencumbered through the halls of my heart. There was so much joy and love it did nothing but warm my soul. In spite of it all the echoes of the past were still close enough for me to hear their passing. I remembered what had once been and periodically looked backwards, fearing to be caught unaware.
It wasn’t a matter of not being strong enough to face my demons. They could set upon me at any time and I would deal with it. I would handle them and whatever else. I wasn’t built to be like Baryshnikov, though I might try to. These big hands that you used to stare at can do more than caress. They are capable of pulling things or people apart. The mind that sits behind the brooding eyes is always active, probably far too active for my own good. But it is always working, thinking about things. That intensity never goes away. At best I can turn it off for short times, but only when I am completely relaxed and you are one of the few who have seen that.
You once called me needy and to an extent I suppose that it is true. But when you have walked under blue skies and felt the warmth of the sun upon your back you are going to reticent to give that up. More importantly, you said that I was the love of your life. Who else should I be needy for or with.
Sometimes I feel like a fool. Sometimes I feel like a chump who knew from the start that it would end badly. Sometimes I think that it was better to be hard and to push you away. That is what is so funny about this. Damn, if I don’t remember a thousand times when you begged me not to go. Damn if I don’t remember telling you to go find your smile and then come find me.
But it didn’t work out like that. Didn’t because when I gave you my heart I promised to be your hero and swore that I would take the lumps. Swore that I would save you first because you are my air and my heart. Did you see that? Years later how do I refer to you, but in the present. So I ask myself this very simple question.
Does the heart know things that the brain does not? It is always followed by its evil twin who asks if the heart can fool the brain into following the heart. Do I hear and see what I want to see and not what is real. I know which way I fall on that. I know what answer I give. I know what I will do and how I will do it.
There are no guarantees or promises. I find that hard to swallow, so very galling. It chaps my hide in so many ways. But dammit, I cannot be anyone other than who I am. So I continue to dance in the fire. I continue to live inside this burning house. The fire burns so brightly. The flames embrace but do not consume me. Damn you woman, will you not take my hand or must I continue to ache. Will you allow the flames to continue to have their way with me.
What will it take? What must I do to prove myself? If you haven’t figured it out you stubborn broad, I don’t break easily. When you ripped my heart out I did not die. I may have screamed once or twice. I might have shed a silent tear, but I didn’t give up. I mastered the pain and found a way to stand again.
Perhaps I do nothing but play the fool but I do so with purpose. I stand my ground because I remember what was and know that it didn’t end because there was nothing left. I will not allow circumstances to be the sole arbiter of what is to be. I hear the echoes of the future and I stand here waiting their arrival. Time will tell whether I stand alone or not.
Remember what we were told. We can heal each other. Take my hand and we’ll set the night on fire. Please don’t leave me hanging. Long ago you said that it would be tragic for two people not to be together. You were right, but it would be more tragic for two people not to try.
Come dance with me ballerina girl.
“And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love you make.”
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