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this is the day

This is the day. The epic banging downstairs has subsided, appearing randomly at no earlier that 6 at night when it does. There is no good explanation for why I restrung the old guitar today, and then the new one. I am almost drunk on the smell of their cases, like a museum of good intentions - here are scraps of paper with old lyrics on them, a spare cable, a phone number from a show three years ago. I have been writing these songs for over a year now, and today is the day the good microphone went on a stand.

That is how things happen - when you least expect them.

It is a fairly terrifying moment.

I think we all like to say "we need to get out of our comfort zones" which mostly means something like bungee jumping, or getting a new haircut. The idea of singing the confessions of a bunch of imaginary people feels like walking a tightrope with no net. Seeing it done well does not give me any false confidence. It just makes me respect those brave souls that shoulder a guitar …

with her

I am with her, long after the baby has gone to sleep. There is just the sound of the wind knocking branches against each other and that magnificent smell at the back of her neck. The bright skin of her shoulder glows in the darkness. This is all I really need. The rest falls away, evaporating into the dark sky beyond the windows.

There is the sound of her breath, maybe even her heartbeat or it could be mine. I cannot tell.


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