by Warren Buchholz –
I hold this song close to my heart, and every now and again, like tonight, I replay it to remind myself of the profound and sacred nature in which the song is related:
It’s an anthem to a love story without an ending.
It’s an ode to small moments, paused, that engulf the soul and enrich the mind with a strange concoction of bliss and melancholy. It’s the song for giddying happiness and crippling doubt. For the relentless longing of a person and for an unfocused connection. For fear. For enjoyment. For heartbreak. It’s an anthem for the rush of adrenaline to the head and for tingling butterflies in the chest that won’t go away even after the worst has hit.
I’ve never experience a more raw and purer love than I have in such a short amount of time than I did with “E”. The connection. The joy. The existence of small moments when he smiled or played video games.
It is the only time I have woken up next to someone and felt like there was more to the beauty in life. That word “hope” always springs to mind. And as the sun broke through the blinds one morning, and spots of rays gleamed onto his face and hair, I found I was finally content with the world. The humming of the fish tank continually breathing life. The solace and the peace of the walls around. I felt hope. I saw wonder in my mind and felt a fire in my belly. I felt I could just be.
We didn’t need to talk much to understand each other. We could lie on the bed or the floor in silence and have full conversations. I could hear the crinkle in the smile—one of ease and comfort as we laid there. This is the song that played when I went home. It lasted like the smell of his cologne.
This is the song I played when he left. And the song I played again when we were together for another night after running into him at a party several months later. I felt like I was where I needed to be. And as he whispered things into my ear that I had never heard anyone else ever say, nirvana flooded my body. I still remember his fingertips running down my arm. His gentle breath floating near my ear. I couldn’t think of a better place to be for the moment. Then he left again, and I played this song for months after.
This is the song I play tonight, two years later, now of near-loss and of extreme panic. This is the song of relief after knowing he’s alive. And even if we haven’t talked in months, he’s still close to me: in my soul, in my heart, in the music that plays as I’m writing this. I’m glad he’s alive. I’m thankful for him being in my life. I’m grateful for the time we spent together.
This is the song of hope. Of solitude. Of peace. Of thanks. Of respect. Of love.
“By the cracks of his skin, I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
Held on as tightly as you held onto me
And I built a home
Until you disappear
And now, it’s time to leave and turn to dust…”
Love, respect, sympathy, and compassion go out to everyone who has been affected by terrorism at Pulse in Orlando. Hate and terror will never be justified, condoned, or rewarded.
Love always wins. Always.
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