. . . with songs? Like so deeply, deliciously in love, that you don’t even know how you lived before you heard that song. I’ve been having a new affair with music after having had pushed it to the side for far too long. Adele, Frank Turner, and Mumford and Sons are on heavy rotation in the mini van. So much so, that Kai and Keegan both belt out the “aye, ayes,” at the beginning of Adele’s My Same.
The night of my birthday party I fell into a warm,fuzzy, on the edge of numb, slump while watching Paul Simon on SNL. Paul Simon in HD, with the new surround sound was better than any seats I’ll ever score to one of his concerts. His song Rewrite, on that night, the one where I was trying to throw a party to pretend I was somehow back to normal, just grabbed my heart and held it still.
Nearly four months later I still hold my breath during this verse:
I’m working on my rewrite, that’s right
I’m gonna change the ending
Gonna throw away my title
And toss it in the trash
Every minute after midnight
All the time I’m spending
Is just for working on my rewrite, that’s right
I’m gonna turn it into cash
I’ll eliminate the pages
Where the father has a breakdown
And he has to leave the family
But he really meant no harm
Gonna substitute a car chase
And a race across the rooftops
When the father saves the children
And he holds them in his arms.
Holding my breath.
embracing that ache, and then letting it pass.