Come Pick Me Up

Ryan Adams is a music god. I should start by saying that. His musicianship, his creativity, his lyrics that speak when your heart can't find the words and his ability to morph perfectly into any genre, any sound, any feeling he gets a hankering to shape into a song.

When they call your name,
Will you walk right up
With a smile on your face
Or will you cower in fear
In your favorite sweater
With an old love letter?

What do you do? Why is it that it's always so much easier to give into the bad stuff? The good thoughts, the good memories are so much harder to hold onto. There's a lot of good, but the bad is just easier to feel. The good is harder to keep, like it comes in short moments, in fast forward, while the bad seeps into you, chokes your every breath and moves in slow motion.

There's actually not a lot of bad. There are a lot of laughs, so much to be proud of, so much to take in and enjoy. But there's this ghost that's always with me, always haunting. "What's a six letter word for a broken heart?" I'm just "lonely." I miss intimacy. I want intimacy. I want hands holding mine, someone to talk to while I'm riding the subway. More than that, I want arms snug around me and legs tangled in mine while we sleep, and I want to feel wet lips against mine. I want. And that's ok. It's what makes us human, this condition they call loneliness.

And you don't have to give into it. You can smile and dance and laugh. You should and you do. But the fact is, in the darkness, in the silence, you can still feel its breath on the back of your neck.