songs and such

One of the best days of my life was the day when I first got a guitar.

Before that day, I used to sneakingly play my older sisters guitar when she was gone. She always got mad if she caught me, but it hardly mattered to me because I had just gotten to write music for my song.

I had one really good song back then. I had a few songs, but this one was my favorite. I still remember it now, though it was years ago, and I haven’t played it in ages.

Writing music has always been something I loved. And I loved it more than anything. I would go out and walk in the woods and begin to sing, and I could sing for hours, one made-up song merging into the next, and the next, and the next. It didn’t matter that no one would ever hear those songs, for they were the begining of everything for me.

Now I am years older, have sung for people in my church, and other churches, in talent shows and small concerts….

And I owe it all to the sweet woman who gave me that guitar.

I owe it also to the urging of my father to keep writing. He always told me to keep writing. And because of that I did.

And I will never regret that.

I am tired.

My heart is broken. Beyond repair it seems. I know that isn’t true…but my heart hasn’t heard that yet.

I want to cry but my eyes have run dry. I want to run away but my legs would fail me, I know. I want to go back and try again, but this isn’t a choose-your-own-adventure book. I want to go back and tell her that she is more loved than she could ever imagine.

My soul is torn to shreds. I don’t know how this happened. I wasn’t ready yet. None of us were. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

We weren’t ready! Don’t you understand that? We aren’t ready to live without her! We can’t do it! 

She would want us to push through. She does. But I am tired. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I can barely breathe without choking. I wish I had told her that I loved him like I wanted to. I wish she knew I wasn’t just playing. 

I wish so many things. Grieving makes you think too much at times, and not enough at others. Things that I thought were important seem trivial. Things that I thought were trivial are now everything. Like saying I love you. I have to tell everyone that. Always. I have to. Oh my dear…

How can I go on? 

Paradise

“This is not goodbye” he whispered in his younger brothers ear.

The younger brother lay on the hospital bed, his face white and wet. 

The older brother strummed four chords on his guitar. The younger brother smiled as the older began to sing.

“Your voice was always very comforting to me.” the boy whispered.

The older brother smiled sadly. Then he had to leave the room though. Only family was aloud in the room now. So his brother had to leave him.

“This is not goodbye.” said the younger brother, grasping his hand.

“I know.” the older brother managed to choke out before he left the room, tears flowing down his face. “See you in Paradise.”