Living apart
You're a falling star, You're the get-away car.
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.
And You're the perfect thing to say.
The days are vibrant and scurrying-beetle-busy. The nights go by too fast and the phone isn't enough. To hear the inflection and the tone in a voice is one ladder rung better than an e-mail or a text, but there isn't a voice beautiful or powerful enough in the world to compare with the physical contact and affection of a simple hug. I miss him and I know it. Some days I don't know how to get those words out in the way I want to, and instead it comes out in frustrated and unwarranted anger.
You're a carousel, you're a wishing well,
And you light me up, when you ring my bell.
You're a mystery, you're from outer space,
You're every minute of my everyday.
We fight because it's late and we're exhausted and we have to get up in a few hours. He's not here and I'm not there and I can't talk for long because I have at least two more hours of work before I go to bed. And the power's out and Bailey needs more Advantage and the laundry needs to be done and can we really afford that this month? And then, we spend too many hours not talking, allowing our stubborn natures to entangle like a disease, infecting the already too little space we do have to talk and laugh and share. Because it's more important to be right and to win then it is to apologize and retract. Or so it seems, then.
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,
And you know that's what our love can do.
Sometimes we say things we don't mean and it hurts and I wonder if the effects run deeper--longer-- than any visible scars. Because the truth is, there aren't instructions for living 300 miles away from your best friend and husband. There isn't a guidebook or a script or a magic band-aid that takes away the confusion and the loneliness. Not that I'd want it necessarily if there was-- life's intricate mystery and beauty is often masked and indecipherable before the lesson or the "product" is revealed. But until then, this metaphorical ocean will inevitably be full of both calm and high seas. And truth be told, I haven't navigated these particular waves before. Some days, then, the tranquility must come from what we know and where we've been rather than where we currently are.
And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, You make me sing
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.
They say strong ships always come back to safe harbor. The weathered vessels-- the ones full of creaks, rust, torn masts, barnacles-- are perhaps the most powerful, as their strength has been tested and proven amidst even the harshest stretch of sea. It makes sense relationships would follow the relatively same logic, and while the figurative passages without land in sight are isolated and scary, the end reward is so rich and sweet and gratifying...
You're every song, and I sing along.
'Cause you're my everything.
