ladyislingering
retired
This morning during a long stretch of time where I just sat around and played some of my records, I put on "Sounds of Silence" (Simon & Garfunkel).
Just recently I have been able to sit through the entire record without sobbing, and I consider that quite an impressive feat. I originally only intended to share this with one person, but regardless of the stigma it has with me otherwise, I think it's really something beautiful.
During late August of '07 I had a special house guest for a few days. We'd been in contact with each other since September of '05 and though we hadn't physically met up til that point, he was my significant other, and I was the reason he spent nearly 400 dollars just to fly up to visit.
The morning of the second day we met up at the hotel he was staying in, had a crazy romp, and went for a walk. It was almost noon. The weather was absolutely perfect; more than I could have ever asked for. The sun was shining, without wind. Just calm shadows cast from the evening drifting slowly into day.
The world seemed entirely quiet. We'd exhausted ourselves just taking a few miles' walk, pointing things out, doing silly things, talking and joking, laughing and carrying on. My parents were out for the day; during that time my mother was a secretary, my father had work, and my young sister was sleeping.
We sat down for a glass of water.
In the bedroom there was still only silence with the exception of our voices (just above a low whisper). Intending to keep the mellow mood, my record of choice was "Sounds of Silence". He fell asleep on the floor. I sat beside him.
It was the first time I realized how beautiful a person is when they're asleep. In between sneaking a glance here and there, and taking my fingers through his hair, I completely absorbed the music. I felt the warmth of the needle on the vinyl, in my soul. I felt completely at peace with everything I once knew as empty or bland.
. . . And he slept.
. . . And the sun was cast on his face.
. . . And it was almost like a blanket, taking care in seeing that the gaunt structure would be protected in its warmth . . .
I never forgot how young he appeared in those days. Less than a year later I would have seen much of his sleeping figure; I would have virtually watched him age while together we buckled under the weight of a stormy relationship.
I could have never seen it coming that day. We could have burned the damned house down, but he'd still be asleep. And he would still have been beautiful; I would still have been close to someone so unbelievably tender.
The song I remember, most of all, was "Kathy's Song", and for some reason "Leaves that are Green". Perhaps that was during the time he woke up. I also recall a trip to the local historical museum that day - we didn't have long to nap.
Even when we were physically together for several months (December 2007 - August 2008) I would have never seen him as I did that day.
. . . And the record never sounded the same.
. . . And it never, ever will.
We ended in November of 2008. Three long years, and he left me with nothing.
It has been well over a year, and though there is much anger and distress pent up over what happened during those last few months, there's nothing that could ever outweigh the affection hiding in the grooves of that record.
It's amazing what power music has. How we can connect it with certain moments, days, or even entire years of our lives. For some of us it's just always been there.
That's why I love it.
(And that's why it's nice to hear a record that used to break my heart.)
Just recently I have been able to sit through the entire record without sobbing, and I consider that quite an impressive feat. I originally only intended to share this with one person, but regardless of the stigma it has with me otherwise, I think it's really something beautiful.
During late August of '07 I had a special house guest for a few days. We'd been in contact with each other since September of '05 and though we hadn't physically met up til that point, he was my significant other, and I was the reason he spent nearly 400 dollars just to fly up to visit.
The morning of the second day we met up at the hotel he was staying in, had a crazy romp, and went for a walk. It was almost noon. The weather was absolutely perfect; more than I could have ever asked for. The sun was shining, without wind. Just calm shadows cast from the evening drifting slowly into day.
The world seemed entirely quiet. We'd exhausted ourselves just taking a few miles' walk, pointing things out, doing silly things, talking and joking, laughing and carrying on. My parents were out for the day; during that time my mother was a secretary, my father had work, and my young sister was sleeping.
We sat down for a glass of water.
In the bedroom there was still only silence with the exception of our voices (just above a low whisper). Intending to keep the mellow mood, my record of choice was "Sounds of Silence". He fell asleep on the floor. I sat beside him.
It was the first time I realized how beautiful a person is when they're asleep. In between sneaking a glance here and there, and taking my fingers through his hair, I completely absorbed the music. I felt the warmth of the needle on the vinyl, in my soul. I felt completely at peace with everything I once knew as empty or bland.
. . . And he slept.
. . . And the sun was cast on his face.
. . . And it was almost like a blanket, taking care in seeing that the gaunt structure would be protected in its warmth . . .
I never forgot how young he appeared in those days. Less than a year later I would have seen much of his sleeping figure; I would have virtually watched him age while together we buckled under the weight of a stormy relationship.
I could have never seen it coming that day. We could have burned the damned house down, but he'd still be asleep. And he would still have been beautiful; I would still have been close to someone so unbelievably tender.
The song I remember, most of all, was "Kathy's Song", and for some reason "Leaves that are Green". Perhaps that was during the time he woke up. I also recall a trip to the local historical museum that day - we didn't have long to nap.
Even when we were physically together for several months (December 2007 - August 2008) I would have never seen him as I did that day.
. . . And the record never sounded the same.
. . . And it never, ever will.
We ended in November of 2008. Three long years, and he left me with nothing.
It has been well over a year, and though there is much anger and distress pent up over what happened during those last few months, there's nothing that could ever outweigh the affection hiding in the grooves of that record.
It's amazing what power music has. How we can connect it with certain moments, days, or even entire years of our lives. For some of us it's just always been there.
That's why I love it.
(And that's why it's nice to hear a record that used to break my heart.)
