moving out.

Moving out of our old cottage and into our new house was difficult. I never expected to be the kind of person to harbor sentimentality towards a building, but we do tend to surprise ourselves. Something about the smell in the cottage makes me sad, tired. I felt faint distaste for the new house and the cable television and working AC and the dishwasher and the luxuries that really are unnecessary. I felt torn between an urgency to get out of the cottage and a need to curl up on the yellow canvas futon like a child in her mothers lap, drinking in the smell for the last time. It was in the cottage that I was the naked child, giggling in the outdoor shower, squirming and stomping my little girl feet as my mother tried to scoop me up in a towel. It was in the cottage where I learned to play backgammon and Chinese checkers with precocious intensity on nights when the ice cream shop was closed. It was in the cottage where I laid night after summer night in my bedroom loft watching the lightning bugs flicker in their midnight dance, or the occasional summer lightning storm, rumbling across the lake. And in that little yellow cottage with the blue door and green roof and garden all around and a single bathroom, I grew up.

On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently
All my destinations will accept the one that’s me
So I can breathe…

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they’ll never know
A mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes…

Don’t come closer or I’ll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you…

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I’m never what they thought
I’ve got my indignation, but I’m pure in all my thoughts
I’m alive…

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees, they’re singing with the dead
Overhead…

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite, forever orbiting
I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me
Guaranteed

[Guaranteed//Eddie Vedder]

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2 thoughts on “moving out.

  1. Pingback: Catching My Eye. | Call Me Sassafras

  2. Pingback: The Reverse Bucket List. | Call Me Sassafras

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