Dear Friend

Picture of This Morning's Sky

Dear Friend,

What is wrong with me? When will I come full circle to myself? The only time I am ever happy is when I'm in my car, a few more minutes safe from where I will soon arrive. I have lost my zeal, my gumption and my earpiece. My biggest fear is rejection, of not being good enough--even at the simplest of things such as knowing how to unlock a door. I miss a note here and miss a note there and before you know it, I can't call myself a musician anymore. I'm afraid to live and to ask the most basic of questions. Because they will tell me no. The answer is always no. And even when it isn't no, I don't want to accept the favor. Live beside me forever and visit me when I die and play music and sing songs that touch my soul inside you. I just want to sit on the mountain with you and sing in my real voice to the banjo and mandolin while it echoes out across busy city life. And then I'd be happy if you would tell me to keep singing and that you'll never get tired of playing. I would rather get up early to do something I love than to sleep late in order to hang myself later. Oh friend, can I come see you and bring you your coffee and slippers and sit at your feet and listen to you make music? I will even sweep the floor while waiting for you to sing my way. I'm having wine like all of the other alcoholics before me who said they weren't what they are. My back can't bear what it's bearing anymore. I'm going to go for a long walk until I'm lost in the woods. But it will be beautiful and I will take the time to smell the cedar because I'm all alone and distracted by no one but me. I love you and who you are to me a silent anchor that keeps me in tow. Come and see me. And bring your voice, so you can tell me all I've been waiting to hear.

I'll be up.
Anna