the music of life is my daughter's voice over the phone, choking with sobs that she got into the competitive program she so desperately wanted. it's my dog's tail thumping against the edge of the couch and the tinkle of ice in my glass. it's the early spring leaves pushing their last fore-bearers to the ground in the warm, inky breeze. it's the literal music on my google home, the pop of texts from friends and the tap of my fingers on keys.
the music of my life is "c'mere" and "what episode are we on?" it's when you keep saturday nights free for my friendship (full of need), and in random afternoon sportsballs at the bar (where all of my questions are patiently answered) and we sip cranberry vodkas. i hear it when you say that i am loved, and that it matters that i exist. i hear it in boxes of kitchen utensils and it's in your voice and laugh when i finally get to see you face to face.
it's also in the chug of the photocopier broken by laughter, tears at my kitchen table, the videos of meg covering pink and sarah barrellis ... and even the videos of hank the bat hamster. god help me, it's even in the (cliched) birds outside my window in the morning.
here is what i am (slowly) re-learning. i cannot make the music of my life. *you* make the music of my life. i would love to say that i am a strong, independent woman - and maybe i even am - but without your drumbeat/horn line/thumping bass/tight harmonies my life is empty. i hope i make some music in your life, too, don't get me wrong.... just don't mistake my contentment for anything other than listening to the melodies you make in mine.