The other day a do-gooder left me emotionally stripped down, interrogated, and red-flagged over coffee. I’m talking tagged like cattle, corralled like a horse, and collected like an old civil war brass button. Of course,
I don’t fit in back pockets.
I’m still stretching my wings after his attempts to fold me up into the box that he calls unhappiness and life, and I wonder, did I do the same to you?
I didn’t know myself when I knew you and walked you down my road of misguided morals and good intentions.
Hey Stephen, thanks for being the good guy that Taylor writes songs about, because when he told me he was “that” guy I should have believed him the way I believed you could fall in love.
Hey, I know standing on the edge is different from falling, and we both teetered in our own directions, in a new time and another place. And that’s okay.
Hey Stephen, remember our song and how we thought Wire Road was the end of the line? You and me in my twin size apartment never dreamed I would shake the writer’s hand and think of you here, in a life that’s grown past a full circle.
I hope Dallas is nice, and when you remember the sky your eyes reflect airplanes and stars.
I don’t write about you here because you’re the good kind of memory-
You flew from Auburn, I played at Penny Lane, and we forget until Saturdays when we return home to Jordan-Hare.
Keep in mind that
Life is good,
Not quite in love is still okay, and
The past is where we all came from.
I know that when you’re done, you’re done
And I’ve moved on too
But forgive me because sometimes…..
I can’t help myself.