You'll find me gone.

Currently listening: Carbon Leaf - On Any Given Day.

T-minus Two.

In 56 hours I'll be moved in somewhere else.

I woke, I broke free drove a long time
It didn't purge you from my mind
Hang up the halo, maybe you're right
Chalk it up to a starry night
To be set free, to live and learn
Did we pass or fail the term?
You wrote a note with chalk on my door
A message I'd known long before:
On any given day, you'll find me gone
On any given day, you'll find me gone

A young fellow named Tim, a.k.a. Zig, who was a freshman during my final year at Mercer, piqued my interest in Carbon Leaf when he spoke of their concerts on the Atlantic coast and rich folk-pop sound. I began to discover their music through the influences of others later on, and now have a small collection of favorites including Mellow Tone and The Boxer.

However, of all their songs On Any Given Day is the one that catches my ear and holds my attention.

Give me your reason, give me your rhyme
So I can tempo me to your time.
So I can scratch your surface and be
A deeper part of the mystery
To be undone, to be alone
To live life in monotone
I reach the beach and try to ignore
The warning I'd known long before
On any given day, you'll find me gone
On any given day, you'll find me gone

Amo, I love.

Amabam, I did love.

Ironically, that is the imperfect case.

I have searched for a lover and each one has found me wanting, or been found wanting in turn.

On any given day you'll find me gone. Itinerant. In motion. A Gypsy.

And yet, Amaritudo eludes me. Bitterness does not gain a clawhold in my heart. Why?

If I cannot have that which I once prized, and have now abandoned the search of it, why am I not saddened?

Why does my heart leap within me with joy whenever I realize I no longer wear the ball-and-chain of one desperate to be loved?

I've been down to the sea
I've been down to the sea
And so all of the lovers will say
Forever star-crossed will we stay
Still I can't help feeling
castaway on any given day
Still I can't help feeling
you'll run
      away on any given day

I have departed from the trail. The road less traveled by is my new footpath, free of companions but also of brambles and ruts. There is a saying that when seeking knowledge on difficult roads that many travel, there is much wisedom to be found. "The road is not smooth, but it is well worn."

My road may not be well worn, but it seems smoother these past months than any I traveled before. It is dappled with sunlight and seems free of obstructions, injustice or greed.

I window shop for you in my mind
A flannel shirt at the five and dime
A leather coat cut big city style
Boots from plastic crocodile
A pinecone dipped in glitter glue
A penny - 1942
A necklace with a cheap green stone
Barefeet, cold sand. Chill to the bone

This is the sort of list I would have compiled once for someone who wouldn't notice the little variations that mattered so much in my mind when it was assembled. Because the one who trained me to be so detailed is long since gone.

I sent you a collection of gifts, once upon a time.

You were sick and I was busy missing you. Do you remember? The elephant earrings and the candle that was too large for the base?

You were beloved, and when He made me give you up, it almost killed me.

I'm not sure I ever forgave Him for that.

My eye on you. My eye on you.
My eye on you always

And each lady since has been little more than a pale reflection in a pool of moonlight and yearning. I've wanted to stumble across another of your ilk and caliber, and each one disappoints. Each one was less than the perfection to which I reduced you.

For you were more complex than I gave you credit for. You left me in the dust of a dream crushed and a hope realized. Honesty becomes us both better than the wistful fantasies of adolescence ever did.

Does he treat you well? Are you still lovers? I haven't heard from you in years now. Perhaps . . .

But no, it is better that you remain within my past. Buried as a memory. For your power there is greater than it ever would be again if I reduced it by meeting the real you in the real world, without my rose colored glasses and youthful imaginings.

I lift my hands up, smell to reveal
Your perfume on the steering wheel
You're next to me asleep and I smile
I think I'll drive on for awhile

You can keep this place within my heart. Stay, and serve as my most jealous of mistresses. Drive out all the impostors who might seek to uproot you and make themselves my loves. Be my beloved and perhaps I will return to the simplicity of the years when I had eyes for no-one else.

In bitterness at time lost I once claimed that seven years was too long a period. But perhaps it was too short.

On any given day you'll find me gone.

Saturday, October 15, 2005


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