Dave Grohl - Walk & The Pretender (solo acoustic) - 3FM On Stage
or listen to the song I listened to when I wrote alot of it... Lady Gaga - Million Gypsies
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Lovely beast, coincidence. Or chance? Well that was her question. He found that the universe was not that beneficial or maleficent.
He found it. He wasn't looking for it. Truth be told, he was looking for something completely different. He thought it had been long lost. But there it was. A simple talisman from the fates? As they had enjoyed their pranks on him more than simple blessings, he didn't trust.. If you knew, you can understand.
It was in a Storage Unit. One of those metal chrysalis that holds possessions while one's life in transition; waiting to travel from one step to the next. The miracle of the mariposa. People marvel at the butterfly not remembering the work the caterpillar had to go through. All the while month by month, continual suffrage had to be paid.
It wanted to keep itself hidden. Crowded into a corner. He thought it had been lost so many seasons past. Just a corner was seen... the slight reveal. A moment... beyond belief. The cover was gently brushed. Maybe now was the time it chose to reveal itself to him. Maybe it knew he needed to see. Something. Secrets hidden exposed with only a simple reveal.
He couldn't open it.
She was the mockingbird, flying through his mind. Gentle chirps, so seductive, if only in his imagination. Memory had cast its golden hue off everything he thought he knew. It was precisely what he wanted to hear. That is why, he couldn't. Her flight would have to remain. He couldn't let her nest. He couldn't hear.
When she attempted to land, to rest, to spread her wings magnificent.... he respond by a violent shake of the tree. He had to dislodge. She couldn't land. It was too dangerous. Her song. A world too incredible... too impossible. She could not build a nest, with her song seductive sweet... though... he so longed for her to. To land. To relax. To rest. In him. Just like so long ago... in a land of never-was. Or nevermore. Depends I guess on how you look at it.
Regardless, he had found the tiny tome. A simple item really. Nothing more than a well worn and tattered scrapbook simple. Pithy sayings combined with memories frozen. Truth frame by frame. A moment, a declaration halted, for a time. Memories of a time, so distant, so far, yet so alive. That is why when he saw it, he feared it.
It contained her. His Gypsy. His wanderer. One who had been a fellow maverick... but then again... maybe he was only describing himself, or what he wanted her to be. Maybe she had been nothing but the mockingbird all along. Lover? Friend? Paisan? Love her memory for that. Salud. A rise of the pint.
So it was.
Maybe. All is only a reveal, however simple, away.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Toss into the backseat. To be. He wouldn't look, he couldn't look. His heart began to flare at recollections of lies too seductive and saccharine sweet. The laughter, the trust, the acceptance. Electricity static flew whenever they looked into the eyes of the other. Touches recharged, refueled and poured life each into each. Time spent together cleansed the dust from everyday life. The world shone. Or maybe in memory, he realized that he could only really tell you of what it was to him.
Reminders of a land, a time, too far away that Ulysses had crashed his ship into wave after wave steadfast. The mist of a rebellious sea only fueled his determination. But he feared that his fury at an earlier reveal would blind and tear. The rebuff cut him to the quick. She who had given him words, was able to silence him. For a moment.
Yet...
...he had placed in in his backseat.
After all...
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
He would have to wait for the moment. That time where he could look at it objectively. More objective at least than now, where its discovery had made his heart race. A place where he could bear to open, to see. Her thoughts frozen, if only for a moment, a season incorruptible. Before she had made any promises, or, more like it, before he made any promises to himself.
He knew.
And that is why. He didn't want to look. In the past, kept correspondence had only ripped his heart anew. Yet he had kept, these simple shadows of her soul. Why? Perhaps they were kept so he could dance in the delight of his own mockingbird song. As long as only the beginning and middle letters were read. But his eyes always burned so as he already knew... had lived though... pitiful ending anemic. Yet he had kept them, though he had not read any in ages. He supposed that to have was only a promised prize as some charlatan consolation for the pain he had endured.
Even if was pitiful, it was his. An ashen reminder of the season. A season where she taught him what it was to love. What it was to live. When he was, she was. The stoking of his primal flame. The courage... the strength... the acceptance she gave to him with little more than her upturned smile. He knew that he gave it to her as well. He would not listen to the whispering liar that emerged to him
Then came the day.
It was towards the end of the afternoon. He was exhausted and distracted from work. That is when he saw it sitting in the backseat. With apprehension he grabbed it. A deep breath was taken. He began to shuffle through memories frozen. Celluloid captures of truth frozen. He smiled. It was good.
It did bring back the memories of the season incorruptible. He found himself smiling. He began to see all with his eyes... not hued by some lost Kodachrome of the past that had warped so much.
It was enough to continue his curiosity to look at the testaments of his friends. So long as she wasn't seen. He wasn't ready to read that one yet. Filtering the pages back he began well a little bit beyond her. He read some. He laughed. But it was time for him to go back in pages and hope that he skipped her. Only one problem... as he grouped the pages to press back, the collection fell and left him staring straight at her.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
The magic of the fates... or their cruelty happened to hold fast on her page.
For a moment simple... his Cheshire cat was simply his calico.
What would her gospel be? Her elegant visage filled with the boisterous beauty of youth. Caught somewhere between uncertainty and certainty, at least at that time. Laughing, unknowing, uncertain, whatever the future might bring, she could handle. Below, her frozen words spoke. It was the time. It was the season incorruptible after all. That fraction of time where we were bold enough, proud enough, to believe that we could bend the world to our will.We were young enough, or fool enough to tell the truth. If only for a moment. That somehow the waves crashing could be faced, that we could take and be emboldened somehow by.
Like a rock, he stood, yet she... like the flotsam and jetsam tossed, became so consumed that one might find out she was nothing more than little more unfit for the main parlor, was willing to use her hands... her mouth... her anything, to prove that she was something more. In the seas tempest tossed, she forgot. Desperately she captured, captivated another. Then another. Desperate to keep afloat. Curious though what happened when the storm had ceased. Though alive, she was disgusted by herself and her own actions.
Salud.
To the season.
He didn't want to be alone forever.
But he could be tonight.
All he really knew now is that she has a dog.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did,
May she celebrate her day!
What if I say I'm not like the others? What if I say I'm not just another? What if I say you're the pretender? A laugh. So who,,,
...are you?
Always.
No comments:
Post a Comment