Some Things Stay The Same

I have found myself writing a lot of unsent letters, emails, and even notes these days. The corners of my life are littered with the carcasses of accusations, confessions, pleas, apologies and poems unspoken, crumpled and tossed aside to hopefully never reach their intended recipients. The creases of the papers hide the tears of their late night revelations, hoping the truth never reaches the harsh eyes of the real world.

At least I have the good sense not release my demons into the light of day. Instead, I keep them on my bedside table, review them late late at night, and fall asleep to their suggestive whispers that poison my dreams. I could do something to silence them: I could drink myself into a stupor every night, or alter my brain waves with chemicals shoved into tiny miracle pills. Or I could simply send them back to their creators, to change someone else's dreams to nightmares, to pull tears from their eyes. But I know I won't.

Older Chests (not Damien Rice, but a cover by Benjamin Costello with Leigh Graniello)
I Remember (live in 2006 with Lisa Hannigan)

(Damien Rice makes me cry. But that good kind of cry, like if you just taste that one last drop of wet salt, if you just take that one last shuddering breath, if you just let your chest squeeze your lungs and heart together for one last moment, everything will be okay.)