Maybe One Day You'll See Me The Way I See You...
I haven't the slightest idea how anyone might see me. I'm just so very certain how I see other people, and it's often an oh-so soft focus, orange light, smell of the ocean, summer vacation, empty highway, three beer buzz, sand everywhere, music drifting through the trees and campfire crackling kind of affection that it's tough for anyone to actually be as I see them. I don't know how to tell you how I see you. I don't know how to articulate something so Nick Drake and Brooklyn Promenade, or anything so smile-from-an-attractive-stranger, or beach smell, and warm night with blinking stars above an outdoor concert. I don't have the words to tell any one of you how you can sometimes make me feel.
You know that feeling that certain people can give you, that Kings of Leon "Back Down South" video feeling...that eighteen year old dusk in a college town kind of feeling...that favorite song in the encore kind of amazing rush. Some people really do make me feel like Eddie Vedder's banter between songs. They do, and how does that fall from your fingertips onto a piece of paper or a computer screen? It's hard. Really hard.
I try to make sure that people know how I feel about them, that I love them, and that they fill my life with double rainbows and cold summer mornings with sweatshirts, and didn't expect to get drunk Saturday nights. I feel things really strongly. I'm reminded of that half-assed embarrassing affliction every now and again, but to be honest, I'll take it every time and twice on a Thursday. I don't want to feel anything but strongly, and if I can't do that then I want out. I'll just stay home and nurse beers and listen to good music. I want so desperately to fall in love with you, with something about you...I want memories and stories and visions of you in my head that probably aren't entirely true or accurate, but they're what I see when I close my eyes and it's what I want to see. I want you to loom large in both my head and my heart.
Sometimes you could never know how I feel because I've never told you, but were you to ask...I mean just up and ask...I might tell you that you were better than purple and orange lake sunsets and soft, warm first kisses, or quiet coffee, or tripping into someplace brand new. You just might hear me say how you make me feel like the departures board at an empty airport, or remembering what it was like to be twenty-two and ready and eager for anything.
What if you were suntanned skin and tanlines, or the smell of barbeque, or watching the surfers catching the last waves of the day off of the pier in San Clemente...what if you were ripping the cellophane off of that new record and finding that one song that you hope no one else ever finds? What if you were skin on skin or the smell of summer hair? What if you were those things but you never asked? What if for as long as I can recall you've been summer to me?
If you found the guts to ask maybe you'd find out that you're a daydream, or a warm shower at the end of a long day on vacation, or maybe your sunfreckles or sundresses. Maybe you're the warm wash of cold tequila and lime on an empty stomach, or singing along as a good friend strums his guitar to any song you can throw him? There are times when I see you that I'm certain that you're the Pacific Coast Highway, or a Grace Potter harmony, or finding sleep when you need it most. Sometimes I wonder if you're sixteen and unemployed, if you're my best friend living down the street, or a high school dance. Sometimes you're the concert tickets I save, or the empty night with just me and Casablanca. Sometimes I think that you're the stomach flip before she talks to you, or the smell of sunscreen. What if you were any of those things to me and you never once asked just what it was that I thought of you?
I don't know how you see me, but sometimes you're Sheryl Crow singing "If It Makes You Happy" the way it was meant to be sang, and if that's the case then you'll never feel unloved.