The last few weeks of winter are always the toughest. They require music that is both somber and bordering on hope, something that soothes the soul and quells the restless heart. One of the best albums for this is Annie Lennox’s magnificent ‘Diva’, which became the soundtrack to the last winter of my high school years.
How many times do I have to try to tell youThat I’m sorry for the things I’ve done,But when I start to try to tell youThat’s when you have to tell meHey… this kind of trouble’s only just begun
During that winter, I was just starting to feel the pangs of leaving our youth behind, and with the very real sense of such impending loss suddenly some of our lifelong grudges softened a bit. One of our teachers pointed out the phenomenon, explaining that it happened to most seniors, before trailing off wistfully. She seemed as moved as I was at that moment, when understanding and realization aligned with a rare recognizance of growth at the exact instant it happened.
I told myself too many timesWhy don’t you ever learn to keep your big mouth shutThat’s why it hurts so bad to hear the wordsThat keep on falling from your mouthFalling from your mouthFalling from your mouthTell meWhy…
I may be madI may be blindI may be viciously unkindBut I can still read what you’re thinking
And I’ve heard is said too many timesThat you’d be better offBesides…Why can’t you see this boat is sinking(This boat is sinking this boat is sinking)
The end of winter is an icy space. A frigid place. It trends toward the thaw of spring, but at its heart it remains frozen. Those first days of melting, when the heat of the sun is enough to finally cut through the snow, there are cracks and fissures, especially when the nights freeze everything again. The push and pull of this time wears on the strongest of us.
Let’s go down to the water’s edgeAnd we can cast away those doubtsSome things are better left unsaidBut they still turn me inside outTurning inside out, turning inside outTell meWhy…Tell meWhy…
When those last of that winter’s days began to dovetail with the very beginning of the last of my high school days, this was the music that saw me through the tender time. We were just starting to write the stories that would become our own history books of life – the first chapters of whatever was about to unfurl. I put mine down literally, a practice I’ve maintained through this very moment.
This is the book I never readThese are the words I never saidThis is the path I’ll never treadThese are the dreams I’ll dream insteadThis is the joy that’s seldom spreadThese are the tears…The tears we shedThis is the fearThis is the dread
These are the contents of my headAnd these are the years that we have spentAnd this is what they representAnd this is how I feelDo you know how I feel?‘Cause I don’t think you know how I feelI don’t think you know what I feel
I don’t think you know what I feelYou don’t know what I feel
