Autobiography

My teacher said,

“Write down what is important.”

What?

This is the wisdom for today?

Seriously?

Often, I wonder, what do I want to learn?

What I already know?

Probably.

Here’s my story:  (Feel free to skip ahead.)

I was a sweet little kid, the oldest of three.

I loved pretending, music, stories, and the ocean.

My mom and dad broke my heart.

I fell in love with a girl, Linda, in high-school.

It was love at first sight,

and I still love her.  I always will.

She had the most fantastic hair, and she laughed like a boy!

Her father killed himself.

I loved him too.

So dearly.  I never told him.

Mel Morris, I love you dearly.

I have no clue if Linda is even still alive,

and frankly, it doesn’t even matter that much.

The Love matters.

The best thing I do is words and music.

I can control a guitar very, very  well.

Words even better!  (Not tonight, I’m indisposed.)

I can make a guitar sound like my heart.

You can’t ask for more from an instrument!

…or a player.

A woman fell in Love with me hearing me play,

we married,

I Loved her too…so much…

we had babies…

…they are men now.

I Love the babies and the men and everything in between and whoever they might become.

I broke their hearts, like parents do.

Love doesn’t help you get along with each other necessarily.

And why is that?

Why have Love, and then construct a world such that it doesn’t end happily?

(Questions for another “not poem”.)

Fast forward…

Suddenly, no wife, no home, no job, no…

…only stars in the black empty sky.

And a therapist…

Then, Love again.

A curly headed mystery.

In a way, she didn’t say much.

She had a story of her own.

Wounded.  Broken hearted.  Confused.  Mistrustful.

And doomed.

I love her like the sky loves the sea.

Simple as that.

If you don’t get it, too bad too sad.

I don’t either.

She died.

Life didn’t die!

Love didn’t die!

Look!  There are the stars!

There is the sea!

There is the sky!

But I Love my sweet companion.

I miss my sweet companion.

I could climb any mountain,

Be the first man on mars,

greet the aliens as they first visit the earth,

get elected to be whatever,

make the most beautiful music ever heard,

cure cancer,

end war,

and none of it compares  to having  her sweet storm of black curls lay on my chest again.

This is Love.

The wars, the cancer, the stories, the poems, the show…

…just the stuff.  Filler.

Love ends the world, and begins it.

There it is.  A curly head.  A welcome chest.

The sky.

The sea.

There it is.

Here I am.

~ by Rusty Jones on February 5, 2012.