Magnolia

Magnolia by J. J. Cale
And it is pouring down, the rolling soft green of the hills.
I carry the palmtrees in my heart. The brown mountains, Santa Monica, St. Gabriel, the back alleys, so soft and dusty, the long roads.
A whole future opens up in front of me. So glad to have lived all that I have lived. So thankful for all that beauty, for all that grace.
The love, ah, that love.
The friends, ah, those friends.
The music, ah, that music.
Dancing inside of me, dancing in my dreams.
There is so much beauty, everywhere.

Sometimes I think of it and my heart starts hurting. The wound, so real, so palpable inside. Then I breathe in and bare it, bare the pain, the fact, the hurt.
It makes me strong and it makes me soft in the same time. After the bitterness of a hard night full of confusing and painful dreams I awake and all I find is love.
Love, love, love.
It sounds so cliche and yet it is true. True that the postcard citch of sunsets is still just a copy of the original true beauty that really is out there every night.
Love, it is true. That I am so glad, that we've met. That it is okay. Even if I find a new way. Even if there is never a new now for us. Even if I have to take the high road and you take the low road.
It doesn't matter.
I find myself in a tower, full of secrets that I even won't whisper but order to silence.
It makes it even more beautiful. Even more real. Even stronger than before.