These Words Are My Tears

It is well after midnight and the lights in the house are off.  Alone in the dark I continue the dance that I started so many years before. This blog is my companion, confidant and in many ways my best friend. This blog is where I sometimes reveal secrets and or thoughts about my life. It is where I let my mind wander wherever it will and share the contents.

I am a man who dreams about the things he wants, the places he has been and that which he has lost. There is an eternal echo inside my head that links the past to the present. It is a funny thing this life of ours. Sometimes the things we fear the most are the things that find us first. I am no different than any other person. I have my own demons to deal with and sometimes a set of guardian angels who watch my back.

Earlier today a friend called me in great distress. He told me that he had spoken to the woman who broke his heart and asked me for some advice. He wanted to know why she was able to walk away from it all so easily. He wanted to know why she didn’t seem to have shed a tear over their break up and if I thought that she might still love him. I told him that I couldn’t say for certain whether she still loved him or not. I told him that I couldn’t tell him if she cared or if that she never had.

I told him that I couldn’t answer any of those questions because I am not a mind reader. I told him that it was very possible that she was just as upset as him and that her heart had been broken too. I said that she might have hidden that from him and he yelled at me. He wanted to know why she would hide from him and what could he do to make her feel safe.

Relationships are a funny thing that aren’t based on logic and reason. They run on hearts not heads so the gears are more likely to be fouled with muck and mud. I told him that sometimes you have to have the intestinal fortitude to accept that you might not ever get an answer or that the answer you receive might not be the one that you want. I felt badly saying it because I know what it feels like to have loved and lost.

But I also know that we can’t predict the future so anything is possible.

And I don’t know why, but I had this urge to sing”

“We were singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”

It is a song that I have always loved and for some reason I find it to be soothing. I didn’t sing it for him because my voice is anything less than soothing. When we hung up the phone I exhaled deeply and thought about it all and remembered that sometimes these words are my tears.

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