In some way, I’m there with you. Up against the wall, on a Wednesday afternoon-Heartlines
Her hair is like fire. Her lips red and look like they’ve been bruised by too many kisses from a lover. She’s barefoot. Her words wash over me like the feel of Heaven. She is a goddess, an ingenue and I want to be her. Fiery and passionate. The words that form in her mind and emanate from her mouth and body, resonate through my entire being. I wish to be like her. To write like her. To have people feel my words like I feel hers.
I stood in the gallery of the Fox Theater last night, with Bette. We paid handsomely for our tickets to hear Florence , this chanteuse. She is a siren and I am beckoned by her call. I feel no fear as I hear her. I feel only love, warmth, beauty. It is like she is singing for me, and me alone. I am more than happy to allow my vessel to crash into her shores. Over and over again.
I hear the words I must become the Lionhearted girl, Ready for a fight, Before I make the final sacrifice. And I think about all the shit I’ve been through in the last few years. The changes, love returning, the children moving away, the lives I’ve touched, the new friends, the old friends, the passion being rekindled. About finding my passion in writing. About, everything. I’ve become the Lionhearted girl. I have. I fear nothing, except, for myself. And my mind. The chaos. The never ending thoughts. The fiery, passionate redhead’s music calms me though. Makes me feel safe in my own mind. She dances, whirls and twirls. I know she is feeling every word too.
Her encore was Never Let Me Go. A song of the ocean and of deep, abiding love. Tranquility and peace. Her lyrics wash over me and make me wish to be thousands of feet below the surface. To feel the calm. To feel arms envelop me and make me feel loved. I raise my hands up, and sing her words. Wishing they were mine. And to feel closer to them. To her. I swear as I peer down from the balcony, she looks right at me. And sees me. I am entranced by that red-haired beauty. The music fades, the lights dim and she says good night. The crowd is roaring, and the spring loaded balcony that we are standing on is swaying. She walks away, but I wish for her to stay. She is no longer in front of me, but her words still resound in my ears, heart and body.
Bette and I take our leave. We walk with the masses of others entranced by the music. We make our way back to our car laughing as usual. We both have sadness though, and Florence’s music usually brings it out. It did a few times tonight, but then we remember the good parts of our lives. We make our way to US 75, and at a stoplight I look up and see that the moon is full. I think of the concert, the music still ringing in my ears and I snap a picture of that moon. That beautiful moon that I know is being seen by the ones I love. And then we head home.