Sitting on the edge of my bed. My little bed. A bed that is barely a step up from a cot. I don’t mind it. Besides, I’d rather there be more room in my bedroom. Room for the little drawers that serve as my bed-stand I found them in the trash room downstairs. It has an antique look, though the top is a “paper marble” that is peeling in places. Room for my comfy little pea green chair. Not the split-pea ugly-green, but the soft green of a fresh picked pea pod: my favorite color. Room for the real wood bookcase I found in the ally behind my last apartment that is just thick enough to hold one row of books- perfect because it doesn’t stick out too far from the wall. Room for the antique writing desk that I waited and waited for, and then finally found on Craigslist for only $40. Room for the mustard-yellow trunk discovered at a thrift shop; I knew it had to be added to my estate…right under the window where I could sit on it and gaze at the beautiful view the Hollywood hills. Room for the amp that is connected to the guitar that is signed by my favorite band Switchfoot. I won it. Who wins a guitar? The guitar sits there, dusty and neglected since I discovered my new love…
Sitting on the edge of my bed. Staring at the only wall in my room that has sat lonely and white for most of the year here; my first un-shared bedroom since I moved away from Washington eight years ago. My haven, my sanctuary, my enchanted chamber of creation. This wall has waited, looking bare and bleak. Perhaps it knew better than I it was waiting for something. Perhaps it knew all along this day would come.
Sitting on the edge of my bed. If you had described this moment to me eight years ago I would have laughed and brushed your words aside like beautiful butterflies I didn’t feel worthy to look at. But now I ‘m sitting in front of a dream I was too afraid to desire. Too fearful to hope for. Too convinced it could be appropriate and possible for anyone but me.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, observing a new piece of my heart. A sigh escapes my soul and tears threaten to breech my eyelids. Was it just yesterday I had car problems again and I doubted Your goodness? Am I not just like the Israelites then? Who tasted Your miracles, then flinched at the first bump in the road? But here…here before me is a new piece of my heart You have unabashedly given me. It fits in this room like it’s been hand-picked. Hand-picked by the resident of this room…or…Someone who knows her very, very well. Handpicked and handed over as a love-gift to always remind her…no matter how much she has to overcome…no matter how hard she has to fight…no matter how long she has to wait…music is the through-line of her journey. The rediscovered realm of her heart-lands. The color of her cause.
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Sitting on the edge of my bed.
Sitting in the cloud of a dream.
Sitting with my piano.
Image may be NSFW.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
