An old song.
An old note.
An old friend.

A quick glance.
A small glimpse.
A fond memory.

It's in the lyric.
It's in the lettering.
It's in a mirror.

Remind me who I was.
Remind me who I am.
Remind me of who I want to be.

There you sit all glowing,
Eyes lit with delight and the moon,
Singing with full emotion
swaying as you make the girls swoon.

But it's not them you're after,
you hardly notice their presence,
It's the guitar in your hand and the music you love;
It's the feeling, the sound, and the essence.

There's beauty in every note.
This makes you a true musician
Not another talented yet plain young man.
But a man honestly worthy to mention.
You close your eyes for sadness.
You smile for twisted humor.
And you drum your fingers to the rhythm you strum
On the guitar in your hand.

What makes you unique is the love and the grief
From the guitar in your hand.

I've never felt more at home
Than when I'm not here in our house.

A big home with so many full rooms. Surrounded by useless things is all I've ever not wanted.

Give me a tiny home, a large yard, and love.
But don't trap me in your dreams and expect my happiness.

I am a real person.
I'm in a waking body with dreams of my own.

I'm drowning in this open space.
And you'd suffocate in mine.

Is there a compromise?

I once met a man who must have been a time traveler.
He could get so much done in one day.
He'd wake up early and go to bed by 10.
And I knew I wanted to be just like him.

The harder I tried,
The less I got done.
I was stressed, and unhappy, and blue.
Why was I so different?
I can't wake up early.
And I can't get to sleep before 2!

What amazed me most was that he wasn't rushed.
Time seemed to slow around him.
When I start a job the hours **** by
And I can never seem to keep up with them.

I think some people are just born to fit in
to our 24 hrs a day.
For me I am sure I need 20 more
and I have to accept I'm that way.

But every day I still try to slow down.
Take a breath.
Eat a snack.
And press on.

For although I take longer
Than my time traveling father
I still get a couple things done.

As I rushed
And for just a moment
     I winced at the rain.

I drew in a deep breath
Grabbed my umbrella
     and ran.

But when I slowed down
And thought to put my umbrella away
I smiled at the thought
Of the rain touching my face.