went to a Brandi Carlile show last night up in Bellingham with two friends: one of a lengthy acquaintance, the other quite recent.
I could say a lot about that, but just imagine what I might say and you get the idea. I didn't really sit still all night. We went for beers and snackies post show, and I soaked up the delight of fellow humans against the backdrop of bad appetizers, neon beer lights and cheap furnishings. We all looked each other in the eyes. I laughed low and deep, and meant it. I told Angie I worried about, in my fumbling efforts to not miss anything in life, that maybe I was missing everything all the while. I always have to leave it behind. All of it. In order to have hands reaching out, they have to be empty.
And I remain restless.
On the drive home I thought and thought, about how the last time I drove you home I almost reached over and held your hand, and the subconscious part of me was the one orchestrating, and at the last minute the sane part of me sat up and prevented the unknown. Last night, we laughed and I touched your leg with my palm while we were laughing and you grabbed my hand, my whole forearm even, and clutched it to your chest. Just for the record, because I enjoyed it, I'm going to say so. I enjoyed it. Connection, you are elusive, but by God when I find you I'm going to take you by the throat with the utmost gentleness and respect and not let go.
I couldn't see the stars. And I traced the coastline, the knobbled pitted spine of the earth, back to my island home.