swans

"Doesn't really matter, you know, what kind of nasty names people invent for the music. But, uh, folk music is just a word, you know, that I can't use anymore. What I'm talking about is traditional music, right, which is to say it's mathematical music, it's based on hexagons. But all these songs about, you know, roses growing out of people's brains and lovers who are really geese and swans are turning into angels - I mean, you know, they're not going to die. They're not folk music songs. They're political songs. They're already dead."
Jude, I'm Not There.

Illustration of goose from here.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Aimes et Adores

But not really.

He's candy canes and snow (sometimes snowstorms) and sunshine. I've always called him sunshine. I've always seen him as sunshine. He's globes and fruits and footballs and bruises and thunder and helicopters. And lotion. He's – everything. Sadly. Thankfully. He's become everything. He became everything somewhere in the animation of flying calendars. Or maybe he was the pilot the flew the dates.

And you are something. You are not everything, you are something, and you are something special. You're not the couch, not the rug, not the walls, the ceilings, the lights. You're a smile, you're a tear, you're the stubble, you're your words, sometimes you're my words.

He isn't a ticked box and you're not crossed out on my checklist. He goes without saying and you are something new. You are something new.

All new things turn old. But I'm praying not you. I can't have two everythings because there's only one universe (despite what you might have experienced) but I don't have to choose. I'd choose him anyway. I'd always choose him.

But, oh, how I do I love you.

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angels