There is something I love about terrible love songs. This adoration cannot be described in words. As I am writing this I am listening to The Cranberries_Linger…yeah, but I love it. I feel like I am thirteen years old and the owner of an MP3 player. I’ll continue browsing my computer for love songs that cast me under the spell of nostalgia. Sometimes in the midst of this nostalgia I will recreate my old bedrooms.
When I was five I had a pink room complete with a pink canopy over my bed with pink plush animals guarding my pillows. When I was twelve I had a purple room with floral bedding that my mother insisted I make my bed with; it meant a lady resided in this room. It was the same room I lost my virginity in and cried when I realized boys don’t really like you and they wont love you tomorrow.
Onto Patsy Cline…I fall to pieces.
Patsy Cline was my soul sister at the tender age of fourteen. Of course I only secretly listened to her because in central jersey that would be social suicide. I must have seared impressions onto that CD. I completely skipped the sad emo girl routine and pleasantly acquainted myself with the love songs of decades past. Besides Patsy sang it better than anyone: she’s got you, crazy, sweet dreams. She nailed it. I also think I am going to marry every person I date but that’s another entry for another day. Chet Atkins was another man who preoccupied my time, but we did not meet until I was sixteen.
Of course Paul Simon’s 50 ways to leave your lover is in that mix; don’t be silly. I was lucky enough to hear that song during my time as a cashier at A&P; same CD for 6 months.
but where does my heart beat now?
Celine was onto something.
it beats in the representation of letters within this keyboard, it reverberates during cold autumn nights spent in rustic recliners (that’s what I call my shit furniture now), it skips a beat over lanky men with dark eyes, and drops when I realize I let my imagination fill in the blanks, it pulsates when someone appreciates a line or two of my entries, and explodes entirely when I realize I’m lucky in more ways than one.