Stringalongs

Jack Johnson has been playing in my head all weekend.

" There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard,

No song that I could sing, but I can try for your heart,

Our dreams, and they are made out of real things,

Like a shoebox of photographs, with sepiatone loving,

Love is the answer, at least for most of the questions in my heart,

Like why are we here? And where do we go? And how come it's so hard?

It's not always easy, And sometimes life can be deceiving,

I'll tell you one thing, its always better when we're together...

Mmm, it's always bettter when we're together..."

Like a shoebox of photographs with sepiatone loving. That stringalong of words catches me unaware. And although it slips through the perfunctory mind in invisible hues; like morning mist, or raindrops in an ocean... admittedly, I still contend with sepiatone shadows. Perhaps we all have them. Reticent, restrained, wilfully silenced memories of the past, but nonetheless alive... and breathing. And so you see, eradication is futile. Denial is futile. The only way forward is singing along loudly and unashamedly to stringalongs of lyrical truth. La di da...