This, my excavation

This is what I've done most nights since 2008. Mistakes were made, loves lost and found, and some were rebuilt to be gone forever. Confidence captured and shattered, but I still haven't learned every word, and there's something to be said for that. The stained glass windows I've seen while blazing past the slow and taking the road for myself. Those guitars overlapped and pulsing. You can hear the small imperfections of a heart through the strums. Don't be so sure you won't feel something tonight. And it still escapes me, trying to keep this expanse clear and dusted. All that you and I could have felt and fought for, if only you hadn't been so caught up drilling for fame. It comes in heartbreak, so it comes to me. The howls and slow drift of a winter's night spent recalling. Recalling all that hurt, and assuage and reconcile it to nothing that seems too real. Someday, you'll get it all. Every last word you're still trying to send me, and it will sink in. It will sink in and you won't know what to do. Everything you've felt and all the anger will dissipate into a flurry of needing to get up and chop wood and gather moss. You'll find yourself lost in the woods ready to begin again. I will be gone and you will be forgotten. She'll prove who she is and that she's going with me. No strings. Unencumbered. And I start to smile again with the high notes and the peel into the soft night air. Wouldn't need more than this if I tried. It will be the hardest I've ever cried and held you, and the loudest my smile has ever gotten. We'll have all this, and interpret the crows' calls into the winter mornings.