You Are the Song I Sing


What am I? I am a silent song, an empty dance.
I am a tuneless melody, a shapeless form, a lifeless tree.
What can grow from me? My heart is stone; my blood is ice.
What can come from me? My eyes are dim, my pulse is slow.

Only you can light me, only you can breathe me into hopeful song, into joyful dance.
You are the song I sing; you are the lifeblood flowing. You are the shaping hand; you are the notes and harmony.
Burn me with your flames, make me clean as snow; spark a life in me, beat my heart to pound.
You are the one I love, you are the one I’ve found; you are the song I sing; you are the music I dance to.

Breathe you into me, make me live your love. Draw me close to you, be the pulse, the beat.
You are all I want; make me want you more.

Give your love to me so I may love you, too.

Oh, Say, Can You Be Nice?

So I am loving being in the States, specifically in the Springs. It’s pretty rad. I don’t think I would want to live here again, but it’s one of the best things ever to be in a place where everything is familiar, where you can see your friends, where you know that driving through a chain of parking lots is sometimes faster than driving down Academy, where you’ve already lived and gotten hurt and gotten better and learned to laugh and lived some more.

What I am not loving is when all you’re trying to do is sing in a freaking stairwell in a freaking gorgeous building in the downtown, and then go down a freaking elevator to the freaking first floor so you can freaking leave the freaking gorgeous building, and you are somewhat forcefully told by a rather irritable receptionist to leave “unless you girls have business here.” Um, I apologize for being outside in the hallway, not disturbing anyone, being quiet and happy and about to leave the freaking building. I’m sorry that the elevator was too slow to bear us away in time before our unsightly prettiness caused you distress, Irritable Receptionist Lady. Have a something-disgusting-coffee-that-tastes-good and try smiling once in a while.

Aaaaaanywho. I really have nothing more to say, except this: happiness is a choice. We should all make it. It helps and gives you laugh lines instead of wrinkles. And it helps you to appreciate the fact that some people really do go into buildings not to make trouble, but to appreciate the beauty inside of it.