A song I play quite often goes like this
” Throw me a bone,
Don’t be scared of what you don’t already know “
And I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it,
at first sight, it sounds like something trivial.
Over time and with all that’s come through in between,
this doozy started to make a real nice sense.
And the sense it started to make has a pinch of melancholy within,
especially to someone like me –
who weighs words and commas and all the smallest details.
I’ve dreamt about this faraway land.
pictured it in the tiniest of details,
from the disposition of plants in the house
to how long it’d take me to get to the beach.
Stupid little things, you may think,
My happy places, I dream.
But for some reason, I don’t seem to grasp, that I don’t seem to baptize.
Here I am, still picturing it in its details,
this far away land,
repeating myself to sleep that maybe there’s no need to fly to the other side of this world to find myself at home,
to find my way to the balance I crave.
That it’s not the view from my window or the shades of the sand under my bare feet that’ll make me happier.
That what I need is already within me.
Some fucking where, flooded under these piles of freedom thoughts
And so I distract myself with simple things
like weekend getaways,
restaurant dinners on Fridays
and subtle vices
– to swab this thirst of mine I don’t find the guts to shush
nor to water.
But then I think to myself that damn yes,
the view from my window and the smell of the ocean and the way to the beach and the shades of the sky, they all make a hell of a difference,
especially to someone like me who doesn’t want to give up wondering,
not even when the alarm goes off,
not even now I see I’m making some hell good paintings of these faraway dreamlands.