This pub.  This chair.
BUT-- by this time, that year,
you were driving me to the airport--
Like you were sending me off to war--
Like you doubted whether I would actually come home this time.

That was the first time you lost me.

The second was after a few too many Peppermint Schnapps,
and I walked you downtown,
through each stage of rejection,
smiling.

The third and fourth are no short story,
mostly for all the time between them,
but also because there are parts of me you'll never get back.

Dark lights, locked doors.
Today the pub is closed.
Sorry.  That's the way it has to be.

I guess the good news is that
you couldn't possibly hate me more than you do now.

Do people tell me I'm beautiful?
All the time, yes.
But not when they know me,
not every day they see me,
and certainly not
the way you tell me, dear.

When you get back,
write a list of the ways you have wronged me,
and I'll write my own,
and we'll start from there.

You think it's your fault,
and I can't decide, but
it's not that kind of world--
we all do some pretty ****** up things to each other.

You and I both, man--
We're in a sinking ship,
full of bleeding holes,
getting shot down
by the one woman who asked us to be here--

And she's standing over us,
red-faced and willing,
begging us to float.

Sleep naked for a living--
Stay open.

I've told you again, but still you forget
how beautiful you sound, or seem,
when you wash away your fears and become
nothing.

Nothing at all.

Fire up-- Take flight-- Take notice:
We are here for more than one reason,
more than one lifetime,
more than one chance to get this right.

So,

Stop-- Step-- Breathe:
I have this little book in my hand with a few things to remember.
Honest, personal, but open--
read it if you want to--
my mind, my life has nothing to hide,
nothing to be ashamed of.

This is just me,
wearing a handful of your old clothing,
especially proud of what I have today.

Just trying to find out what it takes to be--
to be beautiful, to be good,
to be raw.

I wasn't really thinking about you this morning
when you called just to say "hello."
That's it--
You are my muse.
You are my music.