To rectify the wrongs I done to you
The air was still, the sky, a lake, of black above my head
I watched you there. Your window wore my breath
I picture a man who looks a little bit like me walking a wooded path on a dark, clear, cool night. He reaches a familiar house and watches through the window as the woman he loves washes dishes inside. With an unspeakable ache in his heart, he imagines what could have been.
I touch your face. I touch your shoulder.The words they flow like the ones the poets said.
And then we walk down through the garden
Down the path few lovers dare to tread
Happy ever after in my head
I don’t remember the actual writing of this song. It’s one of those gifts that just sort of fall out of the ether. One minute it’s not there. The next minute it’s there, feeling like it’s been there forever. I live for those songs and pay close attention when they come.
I had scribbled down some thoughts and had them tucked inside my shirtHow angry waters don’t care who they hurt.
Oh my sweating, scarred, unsteady hand went reaching for your door
But I forgot what I was reaching for
When I used to sing that “angry waters” line, I’d note how unlike the character in the song I was. I’ve since realized, especially over the past couple of years, that I was exactly like him: carried by “angry waters;” willfully ignorant of the powerful forces within me; hurting many along the way.
Time stands still and cries forgivenessThe words they flow like the ones the poets said
And then we walk down through the garden
Along the path few lovers dare to tread
Happy ever after in my head
Did he ever find his voice and cry forgiveness?
Did he start to back away but then stop, swallow his fear and his pride and his pain, rush to the front door and knock?
And when she answered, did she see something new in his eyes? Or was it something old he had almost forgotten?
Did his tears of remorse and remembering transform those angry waters into something new?
I vote yes.
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