November Rain

The music began..and I couldn't help but laugh at god's perfect fucking timing. But I sang along, like it meant nothing to me. Axl started with his haunting voice that seeps into my veins and reminds me of a past that had nothing for me but the sound of his voice and others like him, of raw riffs and bad hair, drums, lyrical rhyming and absolute sense, and of that deathly promise of something big waiting for me.

But life has a funny way of making your wish come true... and never letting you really see, that there, right in front of you, between your fingers, at arms length, there and everywhere around you, is your wish, fulfilled. But you never see it.

*****

Rains have always been my favourite. They have a funny way of making everything seem okay. The rain doesn't burn down on my skin, but bathes over the scabs, it doesn't pierce through me, shinning down on me like the sun, reminding me that I cannot hide too long; but it simply wraps itself around me, and hides me in it's dance. And so I love the rain...Walking down the street as it takes over every inch of me with its tips.. promising me a new start.

There's nothing more difficult, than trying to hold the ground beneath your feet; so tight, so desperately, and wishing never to lose control. There's something so sadistically human about that desperation... That you wonder if there is something bigger in control after all, and if there is.. then why you?

Nothing lasts forever he sings.. and sings to the world of how hard it is to hold together, in the cold November Rain.

Life won't let me call her a bitch, she wont leave me alone, and she wont let me be. She dangles freewill in front of my thirsty rebellious eyes knowing I will crumble, and then she laughs a thunderous laugh, telling me how that "freewill" was a cruel test of Destiny.

He sings..asking me if I need some time on my own, if I need some time all alone.

You try. But the ground does shift, your feet do lose their grip, and the earth does shatter all around you. But the truth remains, that you get by. Because you pick up the damn broken pieces,  you pick them up to start afresh or you shove them down some dirty drain of disasters and start over. It's what you do. Because of some weird spell you're on, that won't let you give up.

So he sings again, asking me if I need some time... 

I try... I try to refrain, but I'm giving in.. He tells me behind fine guitars that "everybody needs some time"... and I give in.

If it's time I have, then it's time I need. To pick these damn pieces up, or figure out where I want them thrown.

Destiny, bring it on.