summer 2011

last night I thought I saw you standing in the doorway to my bedroom, beckoning me to come in.  I wasn't dreaming, I was in that late night sleepy place but quite awake. I sleep on my side of the bed, as if leaving you room to show up.  I remember the times you came strolling in in your tux, fresh from a gig, with stories of the lousy soundman, the great audience, the new song you tried. I miss those days. Waiting while you shed the tux knowing I'd be the beneficiary of your post show energy. A beer in  one hand, a story to tell and laughs to share. Now it's nearly three years you have been gone. How I wish with my entire being that we could be sharing Jake. When he does something unique I want to lock eyes with you and savor it. How cruel that you only had his first 17 months. How sad that I raise him alone now. He misses you, the idea of you. He says you have to sing 100 songs and then you can come back. Could you  please get started on that?