Dear ____:
What do you want to hear? What state of mind are you in? What's happening, has happened, or maybe will? How do I remember you? How do I think of you when I am alone at 2 a.m.? When is the last time we talked? Did we laugh? Were you frustrated? Were you perhaps mourning someone who left you unexpectedly, or was it that you woke up from a years-long sleep and saw the world differently? I think I know.
The keyboard may fade into the ether. That guitar fuzz might come to an audacious full stop. This singer isn't the best, but damn, listen to those words. I see nothing wrong with book-ending '80s-inspired synth with heartland folk. You always did like to dance. We always did like to drive at night and smoke cigarettes and sing along until our voices were hoarse. I always wanted to be able to make sound like this. I always wanted you to notice why you're so special to me. Did you ever wonder, too?
Will these songs tell the future? Will they make you smile as you clean the house and dance along in the process? Or will you misplace this and find it years from now wondering what was happening the day you received it? Will that just dredge up a shard of the past you would rather forget? Did you think maybe I wouldn't notice? Did you believe I wasn't thinking about you? Do you understand how that isn't possible? I think--and listen--all too often.
Sometimes I want the music to go on forever--a constant stream into your house, your ears, filling any gaps that have been opened and feel empty. This is poetry. This is fortune telling. This is truth. My brain and my mouth won't get in the way. I feel it like a waterfall cascading upon my head, stunning and crisp. I want to sing to you. I want you to join in. There is still time to jump in the car in the middle of the night. There's still time to do the things we always wanted. You know that, right?
