Pollyana Cowgirl

Life and its perks

Singing...

I love to sing, alone.
I know I have a nasal soprano that does not sit easy on people's ears.
I belt out ra-ra girl power hits (Beyonce is the singer of choice) when I need to feel empowered, I indulge in my retro hits when cleaning up my apartment and I do the sappy ballads when life decides to take a break from handing out niceties.

Singing...

With someone. Rather, having someone sing for you.
Mal sings for me all the time. In fact, we belt out numbers like well-seasoned divas and sometimes Mummy has to almost tear down the doors to make us shut up.

He sang for me yesterday.
It was one of those hang loose moments where we sit and chat, waiting for the yawns to pervade the night, to signal the end of yet another day.
Then, he picked up his guitar, strummed, hummed and sang.
Perhaps I was just indulging in my own little moment where I lived the scenes from books and movies, where the protagonist sits in awe of the singing hero.
Intimacy.

That was what I felt.

It is so easy to fall for a singing paramour.
Sometimes a single word can capture the entire spectrum of feelings. Sometimes, it is a look. Sometimes, it is a gesture. Sometimes, you just have to follow your heart.

It has been a tough week for me emotionally. Trying to hold everything together while battling demons who were waving billboards of insecurity, fear, disappointment, doubt and anger. I tried to close my eyes to ignore the nagging nugget of knowledge that I was trying to excuse my heart from feeling what I clearly felt.

I survived. I guess I always will. There are too many things in life to learn, too many emotions that I still yearn to feel, too many people I want to continue to love and. . .

Thank You for this week.
Laughter and tears.

posted by Poot @ 2:29 PM