I know it might sound cliché, but some clichés tell a true tale. Like this one. Norah Jones sings this Gram Parsons song the way I feel it. The longing and the loss, the hurt and the time it will take and the admiration for a lady living a hard life with an amazing voice who captured my breath and my heart. And broke it.
Things won’t change for the better. Some things will not repair, and sometimes it’s the memories that are left and to be cherished. Not in regret but with a pain that will become softer and lesser in time. And in the dark my tears will be there so that in the daylight they will not flow.
Ok, so it didn’t work out after all. And I am so sorry for that.
All things have a reason for happening someone told me a long time ago. So there is a reason for recent events. And without going into too much detail I think this one is pretty clear. The reason is probably ‘misjudgement’. Misjudgement of the ability to make that move in life. Misjudgement of intercultural language. Misjudgement of signals given and received. Misjudgement of what is really needed to build something special. Misjudgement of love. Misjudgement of feelings. The result is two broken hearts. And I do not regret the love I felt and still feel, I just regret that sometimes worlds collide and hearts can not synchronize.
And there the story ends. For her. And for me.
What’s left is two people, both hurt. Both lonely, both sad for what didn’t work out. For the one it’s not being able to grasp that opportunity to a better life at this moment in life. For the other it’s not being able to grasp that straw for a happier life. The emptyness that’s left is huge and unmanageable. What the future will bring is once again in the stars.
Today words are not enough. Maybe later. Music will do. Tomorrow I will perform. Sing on stage and be radiant because the show must go on and it will. I long for that performance and I am scared of it. Not for breaking apart because I wont, not for showing true emotions because I will. Not for having to last minute improvise because I can. But for the questioning eyes in the audience of the ones who know. And still I long to go on stage. The prove I am still there, hurt but never more myself than in this time. And to show my friends who I am and what I create. Because in the end that will be what’s left.
In the meanwhile I will just have to switch back to recovery mode. I will do that and I will survive. I always do so although there is a fresh wound that will change into another scarr on my heart. It’s not the first one but I will not allow myself to become sour and be scared for love, although I really am scared now. But that will go away slowly one day. I hope. Maybe someday there might be friendship left from all this, I don’t know because it’s not up to me. Today I had to step away gracefully. Gracefully, a strange word but in this case meaningful. I know I have friends for me to help me through this and I can only hope my love, that you will have friends and family to pull you through. I just was not meant to be I guess.