The Weight of a Shadow
In Northern California, the blues have a certain way of turning music into magic.
It has a way of moving my legs the way they want to move, not the way I thought you wanted to see.
My arms could fly into the air with no sign of caution, just warmth.
Fingertips on amplified strings could throw my balance into a spin.
I could feel my whole body unthawing from your chill, just by the touch of a few notes.
In Northern California, the blues howled while you said no one else could carry the weight of your words like I could; I still have scrapes on my elbows from crawling under that pressure.
This rustic fascination of what might escape your mouth next. The constant wonderment of whether or not it was true.
I realize now there is no truth to be found in burdened love. There is no wisdom to be gained in the guessing game of your perception. Only blues.
I never will be able to tell you if this is love or infatuation because I never learned the difference. Did you?
This four year long game of tug of war with no winner or loser. Just two people who let the melody shatter their resistance to accepting that they had passed being repaired.
In Northern California, you looked at me like you were sorry for knowing what I looked like with my clothes off, and my mind undressed.
In Northern California, you disappeared, and gave me your shadow that never learned how to play hide and seek; a shadow that could escape out of the wale of a saxophone.
Maybe there is still beauty in loving old lovers.
The one who says he doesn't feel it anymore. The one who says he never stopped. And the one who says he never did in the first place.
Maybe it was just Northern California. Or maybe thats just the blues, honey.