A bit of writing. When I don’t compose music I make up stories. Part of a book. Some of them do become songs.
Do you remember love, the one true thing I vowed to never repeat? The one true thing I asked you to not forget?
But first, as is our custom, a small story. Did I tell you of the nightmare I had a few weeks back? I had to tiptoe love, and quietly find my way past hundreds of sleeping lions who blocked the entry to my home. Only to find my Mother there. ‘My girl, you can always go back and change your past…’ she said.
I can see your eyes narrowing the way they always do when you have even an ounce of doubt. But you should know me by now Jay. In my small world everything is possible. So why not go back and change my past?
It’s a little trick I enjoy playing when I miss you, when work takes me away from you. I go back to a somewhere only you and I know and leave something behind. Or I change one little detail of an evening together. I see us staying awake and talking, no laughing until the sun comes up. Instead of falling asleep and eating bacon in the morning, my hand forever touching a part of your body.
Whenever I go back I leave clues. Next time Jay, look inside the small box. You can’t see it by the way love, the gift that’s only yours to find. In fact the box knows to release it only when your fingers carry curiosity with them. Then it will drift into the air and shimmer when you hum the proper melody. Then wait for the gift to find you. Listen carefully Jay, for an echo of the next true thing I will never repeat again.
Your little leaf
Dearest faraway child
Be careful when you go back little girl. Just because a face looks like yours does not mean it belongs to you, or that you share the same desires, great granddaughter of mine.
Alexis was born with the gift of cutting ties, each Mother comes with one gift to use when days have no color. She could see clearly the shades hovering at the edges and the link from one person’s heart to the other. The color of the chord, the secret stories that moved between them, invisible to others as they dreamed, she saw.
And so she cut them, simply because she could. Her path was a lonely one. Until she felt a chord tug at her edges and curl its way around her ears one night. But it belonged, faraway child, to a past she was not anchored to. So she travelled and fell in love there and he with her. Or with the her he thought he knew and lost.
We are all given rules, all of us child, for a reason. To break each and every one of them, measure our strengths and pave a way by moonlight for those who come next .
Your Mother might spin you a story, a fiction about our First Mothers, but trust me when I say this. We were only good at satisfying our curiosity, own desires and following them back to wherever they came from. Even if it’s to a past we stole. Or a past that stole us.
Remember, love will call on each and every one, from places we do not recognize. And the link from their heart to ours is but one pathway we travel on when we dream. There are many paths and even more ways to find and be found. Choose carefully.