The door slams and you’re inching toward the table. You have all the bags from the car and I’m sitting on the table where you want to set them down. I pop up and take your purse from between your lips and……
That doesn’t happen. What happens is a little more decent. Maybe what happens is you ring the doorbell and I buzz you in. My back is turned to you and I’m finishing a sculpture running my hands over the length of it. Slowly. I turn and smile. You sit and pick up a magazine.. or your phone .. and drop one shoe off onto the hard concrete floor..
Maybe it’s more of a walk by the water. Maybe it’s a high speed chase in a police car. Whatever it is you are you. Doing things you like. Saying words you like to say.
There are three valves on the top of the trumpet. Three. They can be used in tandem or they can be used alone. Without air they produce no sound.
I have painted you on these pages for 7 months. Always finding the truth inside the fears, always finding a way to you and your open heart. We decided honesty even if it’s hurts. I guess we should have decided to change based in those revelations.
I won’t stop playing those valves, you won’t stop bending your ear to hear them . This is the way it is for us.