I've always been fascinated with the mentalists of the '20's and '30's. You see photographs of them at the beginning of their careers and they usually appear bright eyed and youthful like the upstarts starting out in movies or the music business. Often they would shave their hair into a widow's peak to appear mysterious and weird. Cigarette smoke always seemed to add an element of sophistication to a promotional photo or a poster. Frequently these guys seem to have morphed into the real deal. Those lines in their brows didn't need to be touched up as the really good ones worked their way up in the business. Lots of them ended up taking their own lives. You read of the ones who decided that maybe they really could catch a bullet in their teeth and decided to try it.
It has taken me a long, long time to figure out that I only want to be with the ones who love, love, love. They are truly the ones who light up the night like a cigarette. You can't get your heart broken if you don't love, but if you don't love what's the point?
I sit here, squirming at exposing everything once again, and I realize that I have a hole in both soles, a hole in my soul and a break in my heart that I can't seem to patch. I've got lots of new songs, not a happy one in the batch, and I've got melodies in my head and in my heart that are making me cry. I don't know about these new ones but I'm not gonna have to paint on tears.
Love. It's worth it.
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