It’s the 4th
So, today’s the Fourth of July, another June has gone by. When they light up our town I just think what a waste of gunpowder and sky…
That is the beginning of the saddest, most grammatically correct song ever written about the Fourth of July. It’s one of my favorite Aimee Mann songs. Last year, Sara and I were broken up for the Fourth. We broke up before the holiday, but that song was actually playing when she said her good-byes. Things are much better this year. We’re separated again, but only by physical distance. It’s weird, I’m not sure how to word this right, maybe I can’t. Being apart like this is a painful experience, I miss her on some level all the time, but it’s not an empty pain. It’s a pain that promises something better. It’s almost like getting a tattoo. It’s a constant stinging pain, but when it finally stops, you’re left with something beautiful. It’s a pain that’s a prelude to something that you know is worth anything. It’s not a loss, not an emptiness. It’s not Hell unending, the complete and total absence of God.
Life’s really not easy, but I think it’s always worth the trouble in the end. Happy Fourth…
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He can’t…
He can’t sleep because he’s not with her. He wants her close, the flesh of her cheek against his arm. He wants her steady breathing in his ear. He’s alone in a room that doesn’t feel like home, such a place seems distant right now. He’s kind of a zombie, a wanderer, doing the things people do, but his mind is always somewhere else. He’s a moth with no flame. He can’t sleep, so he writes…
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