A New Song
"I think I suffer from anxiety," I told my mom.
"We all do," she replied.
I finished a new song, but then what? Stuck, as I was, between wanting to break things and wanting to shut my eyes, I decided instead to just listen to music. I say "just" because I neglected to take notes, failed to make comparisons, decided against experimenting with cables. This was disappointing. People, however, have been telling me that I need to be more selfish.
As the sun went down on Jersey City, I sat still and listened. I chose a disc that I hadn't touched in quite some time: Diciembre, 3 a.m. by Migala. And it made me feel better.
When the night is cold
And the phone is ringing in my bones
And the wine has gone so long ago...
I wish you were here, I wish you were here, I wish you were here.
And, then, you came home.