From a far away place where it rains

I missed you tonight. I was laying on the grass in the cold wet air, listening to an orchestra play live over the speakers. The air was so damp you could see it, the trees were dusky and thrashing in the wind, and the clouds were running by like they had to get round the earth. I just lay there my soul caught up somewhere in the music, and my body limp on the ground, my head aching and my skin very cold and clammy. I wanted to ask you if you felt as I did about the phrases of the music, intense and full of pensive thoughtful meaning, but still all driving on, as if every thought had it’s highest purpose in suggesting the next. It made me think of the soul, a winged thing, beautiful, but always struggling on to something else. I know you worship music, but I’ve never heard you say too much about it, and I wondered if you had been there, if you would have had something to say to my thoughts. I wished you could lay next to me and warm me, I thought about the feel of your hair on my face.

It was silly, strange dreaming though. When I find beautiful things, it fills me with a kind of longing. Wishing to experience something with someone is only to wish to intensify the longing. Then there would be two beautiful things, and myself trapped outside both of them.

Maybe you are a little like this evening to me. A symphony my soul heard while my body lay aching from the threatening storm. Maybe that’s why I missed you so much.