Monday, October 8, 2012

old 97s

I first heard this song in high school. I played it on repeat. I closed my eyes and wrote to it. Something, undoubtedly, resonated with me. I could actually visualize my departure when I listened to it--from future things, mostly the small town I lived in.

It held my heart when called upon--I played the song after more than one heartbreak and felt better and more understanding of what doesn't last.

So perhaps it's a given that I think of it immediately after learning of an old friend's relocation to Florida. A little sad that I may not see them for a longer while, but moreso surprised and wildly happy for them. I get bewildered by time and objects in motion. This tangle of reaction and feeling is becoming familiar. Not in the sense that I will ever get used to it(I can't)--it is becoming more often. It is appearing around more corners. This is age this is time this is life. This is us. This is a span of existence and all that you witness within it--this is change. If nothing changes, nothing changes. And there are too many brilliant moments to chain ourselves to just one forever and only. Change and redirection happen all the time but man...sometimes shit happens where you really notice it. Especially, it seems, with departure.

Couple this with driving back to Pittsburgh today after a weekend in Ohio and here I am hitting play on a song that I've played so many times for damn near fifteen years at this point. One that still reminds me of leaving and gives me reassurance about, I guess, change. Part of that is wild to me. Absolutely wild. Most of me knows that I'll most definitely be playing/singing this song under my breath again some handful of years down the road when my aorta skins its knee again or another migration reveals itself. Shit, that's music for you.

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