Something's Getting In The Way

This won't be a long blog, just more or less a little note that profoundly affected me five minutes ago.

The weather's been turning out nicely where I live. Today was a perfect sky, robin's egg blue, cloudless. Even with the gentle breeze occasionally giving me shivers, the sun kept me warm, brightened my outlook on the day.

I skipped school today. Call me a coward, but I didn't want to see Mike, afraid he might suddenly tell me he couldn't go to the laser tag thing. Plus, maybe he'd call to see if I was okay later on after school ended. One can hope, right?

Stalling again, silly Livi.

After taking out the dog, I wandered back outside, the quiet only ruined by the rogue car diving down my street. I took a seat over away from the cars in our driveway, recalling how many times Mike and I would sit there, laughing, talking, tickling the hell out of each other. He'd always yell at me for going out barefoot. What he didn't know was that I'd purposedly go out barefoot so he'd scoop me into his arms and keep me there.

Sitting on the concrete, legs folded like a pretzel, I let my mind wander. I imagined what I would do if he was sitting next to me right then and there, how I'd place my head in his lap, feeling the sun's rays and his body heat warm my cold skin. Before I knew it, I was lying on the concrete, staring up at the sky.

When I sit outside like that, my mind wanders. I initially heard a violin playing in the back of my mind, a single note stretched on forever, softly. I tried coming up with music for the imaginary violin in my head to play, but was stuck on that same note.

It was then that I heard more notes, barely audiable in the distance at first, growing louder. The familiar violin and piano came together, followed by a voice I could remember clearly.

Somewhere, outside of my house, Breaking Benjamin was playing, specifically the acoustic version of The Diary of Jane.

The words came to me in a rush, as did the tears. I hadn't listened to the song since Mike and I broke up. It was him who introduced me to the band, gave me their CD. It had been both of us who sang the acoustic version in his basement in perfect harmony, my higher voice against his lower blending into a tune so rich, so amazing. Even my mother commented on it when we sang together in the car that we matched together.

Sitting there, I sang the entire song, my heart pounding in sorrow as I did so.

How ironic was it that the one day I don't see Mike, something connects me to him? In that moment with the music playing, he had to have been thinking of me. At least, I hope so. Usually when I heard a song that and friend and I would connect on, they'd be thinking of me.

I miss him.