I dated a musician, with whom I was also fortunate enough to sing at one point.  He is really talented and a great songwriter.  I really admire his work and he plays a mean guitar!  I hadn’t listened to his music in a while because the way in which we parted ways was a little ugly and because it made me too sad for a while to hear him sing.  We used to sing each other to sleep, two insomniacs taking comfort for a period in each others’ spirits.  I miss the person he was to me before things went awry. 

So this weekend I heard a song by an artist that he’d performed with.  So I decided I was ready to poke at that scab and see how bad it would hurt.  I listened to songs I had heard crooned at me and songs that made me cry the first time I heard them before I even knew him.  And it is bittersweet.  I don’t know if I can contact him but his music still moves me.   I wish he could know just that.  His music still moves me and I think it always will.  I was blessed to be able to walk with him a distance, no matter how brief, and blessed to be able to make music with him, and it was sweet. 

The world needs more pink-shoed butchboys. 


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