Every day has a shadow following right behind you.
Even on cloudy days the shadow remains, unseen, but present.
Always present.

Every day has a sun beaming down and sending love.
Even on cloudy days the sun remains, unseen but present.
Always present.

You cannot run from your shadow, especially in the sun,
and hiding from truth only brings more pain.
Embrace your shadow as you lay in the light
and let beams of brightness shine.

Every day has a shadow and today you are the sun.


Four Strings

As music from our cello slowly fills the air, little boys go dancing in the street. All four strings tuned in perfect fifths of memories and songs of those in love. 

And only one could play this instrument as she knows who’s heart is loved. For this cello plays not song and string but magic of friendship and romance and pain. Its songs will pull your heart into lives unknown yet perfectly connected.  

And if you ask, this cello will tell, that love and pain are shared. For it is not love if it can not hurt and even in longing there is pain. 

And as I long for you I search to find this cello and it’s maker. And search to find and make it play the purest form of song. To listen to it’s magic as we embrace again. I would hold you tightly as we listen to its melodies as it sings us into old age. So many stories its strings could tell, of how we met and fell in love and how we loved each other so completely that no one, including us, would believe. 

Yet belief in love is a foolish thing and cellos hardly sing. So the music will be empty and the cellist will grow old. Dust collects, hairs gray, and cars are given away. Empty back seats are filled with children (and this always makes us smile) but passion is forgotten and trips to the corner store are just for milk and eggs. 

 Except for somewhere, when we find ourselves together again (and we both know this will be true) that our cello starts to hum and sing as magic plays its tune. It’s just one song that needs to play as music lasts forever.  

And mid song, mid life our eyes would touch…but for a moment…the glance of forever passing in a crowded room. And the world stops, at least for two, and tears roll as memories return. 

The music will not stop again, we promise to the other. The songs will play if we play them ourselves, though neither of us know how. And then one more walk as comfort surrounds us. One more kiss on your salt stained cheek. And finally one more goodbye.

Eyes grow tired and souls grow weak and together we have always been…
…years pass and boys become men and we were meant to be. If only in the music. 

Four Strings