To those that take the time
I smoked cigarettes to keep my mouth occupied, to keep my tongue trapped behind teeth, in order to keep my comfortable distance; because teeth weren’t the only walls my words were struggling to climb these days.If I told her so she’d just say she understood, smile, then walk away. So I just keep my silence, lay on the couch and pretend like I like this. Later that night, listening to her sing along to the songs that I plangently plucked out, I was suddenly thankful for what few fans I had.
I dream sometimes of my words reaching across oceans and cultures, of touching someone with a phrase without them ever having known how it sounded coming from my mouth, of writing down the words on everyones tongue. It’s bounced from being a hobby to an obsession, to a way to get famous to a potential profession, and just about everywhere in between, but it’s the single thing that’s been with me the longest.
It occured to me, watching her mouth move in time with mine, that I seldom recognize what little success I’ve had at changing the world. I may never move mountains myself, but I could be happy with simply moving someone to the see the other side of a few, maybe even seeing that they’re not the only one pushing against that particular topographical structure.
Some days I feel like chasing meaning, somedays I just chase her shadow, and on my better days I’m moved to alter landscapes, but what I discovered that night was a reverence for this not-so professional, mildly obsessional, infamous, hobby of mine. Completely, or at least nearly, void of egocentricism I’m more in awe of the power of our words rather than the power of mine in particular.
It took me years to realize how much it meant to me, and by then she and I had long since stopped talking. I wonder to myself sometimes when I’m pecking away at this thing if she ever skims through, but I never let myself think about it too much. I thought about that moment in light of all the recent guest star appearances she’s been having in my sleeping brain, and it made me want to say a heartfelt thank you to all those people who have ever taken the time to read something I write.
She may have long forgotten I even exist and I’ve found a measure of peace with that. Watching the newest addition to my list of improbables whisper along with a song I wrote, I was reminded how I came to find peace of mind in these strange things. The ghosts I chase in the words she sings are things she’ll probably never know about me, and the only one who would will probably never see the beauty of the things those scars inspired me to write. I came to say thanks to those that have taken the time, those that took the time, those that allowed me to climb upon their shoulders for a while to take a look around, and attempt to describe the sound.
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