My boyfriend, who happens to be my ex-husband, has been working on a big project for over two years. It is our break-up album. Ironically, he just released it last sunday.
It is called "Songs for Broken Lovers" and it can be found at closer to four. He's feeling a little anxious about it and i'm feeling a little anxious about it.
Without a doubt it is very hard for me to listen to, it is the story of our break-up and now we are treading lightly through this new beginning. All things change.
There is a dead mouse sitting in the grass beside my front stoop. I love my front stoop and have longed for the day when i had one. To sit and drink coffee and listen to the world. In reality i hoped for a large wrap around porch more, but the stoop suits me just fine.
That mouse haunts me. It appeared yesterday morning, a victim of my cats nocturnal play. I watched as flies landed on it. Laying eggs, setting the wheels of nature in motion.
In bed last night i had trouble getting to sleep. I was reading, tossing and turning. Flipping on and off the light. Listening for the sounds of children with toothaches needing me. Freaking out when i turned to look at what was tickling me to find a thick black spider crawling up my arm. If i'd been sleeping i'd surely have woken with a large spider bite on my cheek to match the cold sore on my mouth.
I flicked it off too hastily and couldn't find it. Fear of it's return caused me a fitful sleep. I kept thinking i was hearing pebbles tapping at my window. I'd sit up in the breaking dawn and listen. Nothing. No pebbles. No lovers stones at my window.
But what a romantic notion that would be.
In todays morning light i pulled the shutters closed and settled back in my book. Jumping into the fictional world. Ignoring the need in my body for food and exercise. The emptiness in my fridge. All the little details that normally take up my day. Hiding out for just a little bit.
Then coffee on the stoop. And my mouse. Nature does it's work quickly and efficiently. Eggs become maggots and dispose of the juicy bits. Leaving a dried out carcass with no responsibility left to the earth but dust and ashes.