Music

On the way to church this morning, I turned on the radio and decided to turn on the CD player instead.  The Gathering was in slot 6, and Mr. X gave me that on our first date, and it was right for the day, for my mood, for the level of energy.

My CDs in the car are stacked by their position in the player.  #1 is on the bottom, #6 is on the top.  I peek in the dashboard bin from time to time, to see what's where, to decide what to listen to if I need a change.  As in most things, I'm not organized because I'm that good/efficient - there needs to be a place for everything   so I can keep myself oriented.  I'm that *bad*!

Today, apparently, I was badly organized.  What was supposed to be The Gathering was instead Andy Deane slowly singing, low, "Once more, take my hand ..."

It wasn't "our" music.  But the unexpected playlist suited me anyway.  Bella Morte is a band I can imagine seeing with X - one of those hundred dreams he and I have, across the miles, across the time.

In six weeks, it will be ten years since I met him.  The relationship is not conventional, never has been really - and this bends people out of shape.  Sometimes, honestly, *far* out of shape.  Sometimes, it's X and I who get bent.  It's a funny thing, but I actually met Andy in April, and told him he was the most attractive man I'd seen in years.  It was a hit-and-run, that compliment, but I had to give it. The frequency with which I actually find anyone attractive is vanishingly low.

Two weeks later, I had a period of frustration - went to church then, and gave it up - and instantaneously, X not only answered my plea to G-d, and we began planning the trip to see each other.  I was beside him again, literally for the first time in *years*, within days.  Something like that - some inspiration to abide - has come up every time I told G-d I would sincerely give up, if that is what I am supposed to do.

X does give up, but then he's more depressive than I.  I'm like the late, great Sweet Siddy La - I am hope incarnate.  We both have said, over the years, there is a balance between us.  I don't so much staunch his melancholy.  But maybe am an antidote.

"Once more, take my hand."

What I would give, just to touch X's fine, elegant fingers.  Eight years profoundly apart.  Ten years we have known each other.

It's a good thing the next song on the random shuffle turned out to be "Lights Flash In the Sky".  It's probably my favorite track, AND it is a different tempo altogether.