Midnight musings in E minor

Remembering a time when I was similarly lonely while playing my guitar tonight. I wrote a song, my best, on a night much like I find myself lost in now. But my fingers won't play what my mind wants to hear, and without my melody my muse is evading me. I keep finding myself back at Jericho, again and again, and remembering how deep that longing felt and how huge and overwhelming it was to yearn like that.

It echoes so many things about what I've felt recently that I feel that song on an entirely new level today, and I plan to post a video soon (no camera at the moment). I'll post the lyrics now, to pay my subconscious its due.

I woke up this morning
Alone again but for the sand between my toes
I cried this morning
Lost inside the pictures that my mind just won't let go
Vancouver skyline at midnight
You were mine that night
Sitting silent on the shore
You left that morning, and I'm waiting
Staring at the sky at Jericho
When I loved you there like I'd never loved anyone before

I woke up this morning
Almost thought I felt you here between my thighs
And I remember
The way my passion lights a candle in your eyes
I love your fingers
The way your lips move while you're talking in the night
I know you're hurting, and I'm trying
You know I'd die to simply make it all alright

Because I love you like I've never loved anyone before.

This was a song about missing my first love, the first time I felt the pain of being separated from someone you are so devoted to. At that time, I had never missed anything as much as I missed this love, this person who felt as much a part of me as he was a separate person. Missing my son adds a whole new depth to my awareness of yearning.

I yearn for many things. For safety, and routine, and responsibility. For refreshment and relaxation and freedom of spirit. For friendship and passion and livelihood. For intimacy, for empathy and understanding. But above all of these things I yearn for the smell of my son's scalp and the tickle of his hands rubbing my hair when he's feeling affectionate. I miss the way he says bubbles and sings along to Mickey Mouse. I miss hearing his mischievous chuckle when he flees from pants. I miss his squeezes and tucking him in.

I bide my time with clumsy chords and halves of coherent ideas, and soon there will be bed. Let's see what the morning brings.

Goodnight.
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