nightingale in the hangar

i find myself, more often than not, slipping in between the spaces of songs, riding out soaring guitar riffs and sliding against the staccato breaks of a miked acoustic guitar. once upon a time, not all that long ago, a lifetime ago, i cut my hair and he stopped loving me. its a much longer story than all that, but, well, its easier to tell it this way.my hair is much longer now. and as it turns out, he still loves me. but god the convoluted route it took to get here. i was thinking about it today, while i was sitting on the porch, looking up at the sky, wrapped in some sort of waning fever and trying to talk myself out of a certain sinus infection affliction, about the songs that made me think of him, even when he wasn't with me. the ones that would come on the radio, in the car or in the house, when i'd look over and fully expect the profile to be his, the sweet smile and the way his eyes soften a little more than he'd admit when he looks at me, and instead, there was someone else, more angular, less comfortable, less connected. one of those, one specifically, was Teenage Fanclub's Mellow Doubt. because, you see, i never thought i'd get him back. and i thought, or at least had myself convinced into thinking, that i didn't need him back. the truth is, that line of thinking was just lying, to myself, and every crevice of every moment held some shard of memory that made me want to dull moments, hours, days and weeks with whatever i could find, distance and pills and money and distraction, until i had myself convinced that i'd removed him like nasty mildew from the tile of my mind, when really, he was the fucking grout and i was starting to come apart with out him. (he'll be torqued to be grout, by the way, but he was once written about like a jellyfish, not by me, and that annoyed him more than grout ever could)i listened to this song so much this summer, with so much pain wrapped up in it, convincing myself that i could own this song, realizing it meant something entirely different to me than it does to him, coming to terms with the fact that we don't see each other in exactly the same way, and that very few couples could ever say, "yes, i completely understand your vision of me", fuck, there are things, to this day, he refuses to tell me that he loves about me because he knows, the second he pins it down, it'll disappear. trust me. this is how it happens, with us. this song pitches open and stumbles down a sort of hill, wandering down to that slight tempo, admitting so many things about the lost and found of love. i'm not really sure what its about, but i can find my own meaning in the painting, the words, the way 'sharing a moment in the perfect place' brings back moments of rain soaked, tear stained, leaning against our cars outside the studio, hearing the bass slam through the concrete floors and feeling his hand on the small of my back. the way i know exactly what he means when he says 'nothing is greater, than to be with you'. how i always crack like a voice in the dark when i hear that line. last summer, when i was expending all efforts at distraction from loss, when i was walking the beach with my new ipod and avoiding my fiance by walking the beach in front of the house for hours, i listened to this song on repeat for, oh, an hour or two. striding the beach in my bare feet, letting the wet sand squish up in between my feet, seeing families sun bathing and tiny children smacking their palms against the wet sand, i just walked away. the problem is, of course, that the fucking island ends and it was too far to swim back home to him. it doesn't mean i didn't think about it, though. i realized, standing there, where the sand became reef and my limitations became realizations, that i know even less than i ever thought i did, but that there are a few things i do know, for certain. one of them was, simply, i'm a fucking dumbass for walking more than a mile on hard, wet sand in my bare feet. more profoundly, was the one where i realized, all in one slamming, crushing, angels crying from the wings and fuck i want to have babies with that asshole moment, that i'm never going to love anyone the way i love him. and there i was, barefoot, in a swimsuit, yoga pants and a tank top, with no one but my ipod, listening to this song, looking out over the ocean toward home, watching the sun fall out of the sky so quickly it looked late for dinner, without a fucking clue about what i was going to do about it, or how. or if i could handle getting hurt like i had, ever again. i just knew if i shut my eyes and just stood there, i could remember the way his hand feels in mine, and the way it sends shock waves to my toes every time he kisses me. and i knew . the way you know. or don't. the kicker, by the way, was that i wouldn't have the song if he hadn't put it on my computer, and my itunes hadn't automatically uploaded it with all the other things he'd put on the computer. i wouldn't have it, the song, the memory, the moment, if it wasn't for something he'd done, oh, six months earlier. i haven't told him that. i guess i'll let him read it here. _It gives me pain, when I think of youAnd the things together that we'll never doAt first it's cold, and then it's hotTried to be someone that I know I'm not__I'm in trouble, and I know itHow I'm feeling, I can't show itBut these feelings, don't go away__I remember you, lines on your face.Sharing a moment in the perfect place.I'm deep in your eyes, and inside your head.And I try to reach you, when I'm in my bed.__I'm in trouble, and I know itHow I'm feeling, I can't show itBut these feelings, don't go away__There is no choice, in what I must do.Nothing is greater than to be with you.__I'm in trouble, and I know itHow I'm feeling, I can't show itBut these feelings, don't go away_