dearest roberta flack,
okay, why did i never know that your version of 'will you still love me tomorrow?' is lovely enough to reduce a 30-year-old woman to a pile of mush while she sits working in her cubicle? seriously.
for the last few months, it's as if some type of veil has been lifted from my ears. music sounds sweeter to me now than it has maybe ever. i've always loved nuance, but my affection for it has reached epic proportions these days.
okay, so perhaps i'm being hyperbolic. give me a moment....
now, where was i? oh right. so, i'm loving the smooth, velvety tone that emanates from my headphones and pierces something inside of me. and earlier, john mayer's delicious rasp was soothing me through a particularly harrowing morning. and of course ray l's smoky desperation pulled something to the surface. i swear - sometimes my heart threatens to beat its way through my chest wall.
so this all got me to thinking: is it possible that i could go the rest of my life and never be able to share this with another person? okay, specifically, a man. and it's not just the music. it's the feel of staggeringly beautiful words on your tongue. it's the way God puts His hand on your shoulder when you're deep in prayer. it's the pause in the middle of the best conversation in which you're opening your heart to someone. it's the smell of coming home again. these are the things that light me up. will anyone besides the Lord Himself find those things inside of me and cherish them and not want to let them go?
i have hope for that. trembling hope, maybe, but hope nevertheless. and i thank God that in those lonely cubicle moments, i have music to fill the spaces. other people's pain and joy and confusion pounding my ears, my brain, my heart. reminding me of who i am. who i'm not. who He is. gloriously filled with wonder and questions and heart-breaking honesty. will you still love me tomorrow?
i'm not sure, roberta.
but from the bottom of my heart, thank you for asking.