there is something to
picking up my father's old guitar
and feeling it fit perfectly in my hands,
responding to my touch
the way it once did for him,
and playing chords to a song everyone knows,
but having it turn out somehow different,
my style and voice,
mingling with the echo of my father's,
to take someone else's words and music
and give them a new life.

I wanted to call in sick to work today
and tell them that i just couldn't do it.
and its not the sickness your mom can make you soup for
or the doctor tells you to rest and drink liquids.
It's the kind of sickness that makes you feel like
if you take one step out of bed the ground is going
to crumble beneath your feet.
It's the sickness that caused you not to eat for days
or weeks.
It's the sickness that makes everything in the world
feel like absolutely nothing.
The doctor can't fix you
Your mother cant fix you
No one can fix you.
Only you can do it.

I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

When he kissed her lips,
"You're a good kisser", he said.

Doesn't he know
That she's a great lover too?