Future Song

[create_destiny]

I dreamt it was 1991. She was still alive. We could still take guitar lessons in the spring, learn how to harmonize like the Indigo Girls. I'd beg her not to go to Texas. We'd drive to Alaska in my Ford Escort, end up working at a resort for minimum wage. Exhausted in the evenings, we'd put down our cigarettes and pluck out teenage dirges. (I wouldn't make fun of her poetry this time). We'd sing Harry Chapin songs and Simon and Garfunkle songs. We'd write goofy songs about a yellow tabby with a million nicknames, songs about rocks we found along rivers in Missouri, songs about the stormy Indiana summer nights, how we ran barefoot in the downpour, the pavement still holding the heat from the day, how we skipped and twirled on the soft, wet grass between the Esplanades, the sky cracking open above us.

Comments

[faerieariel.livejournal.com]

That made me a little misty, I don't know where it came from but it's beautiful.

[thejuicyone.livejournal.com]

*sigh*

[dietcokehed.livejournal.com]

:(

hmm

[robin-andersen.livejournal.com]

good & sad - makes me think of my own younger sister

[lcurtis.livejournal.com]

Beautiful.

[lcurtis.livejournal.com]

I have a dream, too. I dream that I hugged and kisses my daughters more. That I played more games with them and did less housework. That we had more family meetings and more family vacations. And when she suggested we take a cruise I'd say yes instead of I don't think I can afford that. And I'd get to the hospital in time to say all the things I meant to say, like I love you, I'm sorry for being so judgmental, please forgive me for not calling, visiting more and please don't ever leave my dreams.