You were already dead by the time I was planted in your soil. Your story is one told to me through grainy photographs. Echoed whispers of peripheral port cities. Somewhere lovingly untouchable. My home was once alive.
My stomach lurches while picturing these hollow streets, once filled with laughter. The harbour bursting with smiles. Each neighbour, a family or friend, usually both.
How I love this island! The salted summer's breeze, hand woven scarlet autumns. Wild flowers dancing atop cliff-sides, free for us to admire and absorb. Absorb we did.
I swear my bones are made of sea-glass. How could they be made of anything less?
In their stories, you are a fairyland. A cosmically unified olden wood, dipped in Scotch and swaddled in wool.
Yet your branches rot, thinner and damper each year. Soon the whispers will be stale air. No one will be left to tell tales of your beautiful youth.
Everything dies. How I once wished to see you in your prime. Even in your postmortem existence, you've given me mud to stick my toes into.
I see you melting into the sea. I smell your flesh being swallowed by bottom feeders. You are a wonder to me all the same.
I can't imagine growing up somewhere more beautiful.
and I will feel the cold air pierce through my lungs as I stroll through the streets of downtown Atlanta
I will hear the sound of thick, southern drawls singing country songs by a diminished campfire, releasing the smell of burning leaves and Tennessee whiskey
I will see my grandmamas gaze as she welcomes me home with a *** of steaming Jambalaya and White Diamonds perfume
And my sweet souls will smile at me with their crooked teeth that look like mine They will approach me with their fast paced walks that move like mine They will laugh at me with innocence, light, and love
Their simple love their pure, loyal love The kind of love that liberates The kind of love that frees me from the solitude I hold So deeply within myself
And I will return to my little apartment on the eastside of the city
with a memory of enlightenment With a memory of gratitude With a memory of grace
To shower you in To nurture you with To guide you to The clear light of day
Cottonwood the summer snow Spanish moss on light wind blows The grass grows fast and life is slow Lightning bugs our cinema show
Beale Street Memphis and New Orleans Where your conversation topic “Are you with the Baptists or Presbyterians?” Take you for real barbecue Tiny places I’ve poured my heart into
Family owned coffee shops and downtown streets Lyrics we scream in crowded backseats The familiar scent of summer chlorine Grandmother’s homemade sweet tea
Thick but sweet like honey, a southern accent sings A porch swing hangs by boots and miscellaneous things Hydrangea tips and cobbler recipes the women’s book club’s fuss A piercing pinch from a mother's hand if she ever hears you cuss
Rivers and forests that hold my childhood Moss soaked in fairies and knighthood Fishing spots and four wheel drives Sunset skies the color of your eyes
Run barefoot in tall “feather” grass “Not-for-nighttime” narrow paths White washed bricks older than the magnolias Ladies with pearls, hairspray, and strollers
Football games with roaring joy It’s an experience that makes you want to join Red, black and white; 90 degrees A mid-fall breeze, its nights like these
Spring Green Markets on a freshly cut lawn Candles and jams and fresh kettle corn Homecoming and Christmas parades you just can’t miss Lights strung downtown in the winter
It doesn’t get much better than this...
I wrote this about my little small town I still like to call home. There’s a lot of it that also just represents my love and comfort of the south in general. There’s nothing else like it; it really doesn’t get much better than that and I truly believe that. The people around me that I love, remind me of home. People and home give me the same feeling and I truly believe that there’s a fine line to separate the two. You can travel anywhere in the world to exotic beaches and castles in Europe, but you’re never going to get that same feeling that you would in a small southern town...
you say the cost of living keeps rising so people keep dying. if that's true, then why should we bother trying? growing up in small town usa, the only opportunities for work are dangerous and offer very little pay. if you dont have thick skin, you won't be able to make it through the day. I need you to say that you believe I have a choice. that you think people will listen to what i have to say if i raise my voice. I don't want to leave, but i know i can't stay. if i want a chance to live, i'll need to live life my way
I'm not here for the silver and gold. I am here to find somebody to hold. Someone to wrap their arms around me tight And make me forget it's a cold winter night. It's been ten years since you stole my heart. Now look where we are. We've come so far from the start. As you lie with me, watching the fire glow, I still can't believe I'm the one that you chose. We were friends in a small town, Then we became something more. I can't believe i never knew it was you I was waiting for. We were friends in a small town, Then you said "I do." Because of you, I believe that dreams can come true.