Whoever you are, wherever you are … I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to.

In the last year or 3 I’ve screamed at my creator. Screamed at clouds in the sky. For some explanation. Mercy maybe. For piece of mind to rain like manna somehow. 4 summers ago, I met somebody. I was nearly 30 years old. He was too. He bought a summerhouse on the other side of the lake. My yearly peaceful escape was interrupted by his presence.  We spend that summer, and the summer after together, every day almost, sharing life stories, reading, staring at the quite skies. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the days I’d see him and his smile, I’d hear his conversations and his silence, even when he was on his side of the lake. It even felt like I was sharing sleep with him. By the time I realized I was in love it was malignant, it was hopeless, there was no escaping, no negotiating with the feeling. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my life. Back then my mind would wonder to the men I had been with. The ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was younger. The ones I played when I experienced a boyfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much too quickly.

Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plain though. I was in my Pontiac Firebird ready to leave. The same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles every last weekend of every August. I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. He had to go back inside soon. It was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another 3 years. I felt like I’d only imagined reciprocity.

Now, imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff. I was still in my 1968 car, on the road, telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths, I carried on, I kept up a regular friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful.

The dance went on. I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane to Toronto from Los Angeles. I have a window seat. It’s December 7^h, 2010. By now I have written 2 albums. This being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I tried to be as busy as humanly possible and to enjoy those summer moments loving him from a distance. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me. I told some people my story. I’m sure these people kept me alive, kept me safe. Great humans. Probably angels. I don’t know what happens now. And that’s all right. I don’t have any secrets I need kept anymore. There are probably some small dark spots still. But you know what I mean, I was never alone. As much as I felt like it, as much as I still do sometimes. I never was, I don’t think I ever could be. Thanks to my first love. I’m grateful for you, grateful that even though it wasn’t what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, I still believed that one day it will. Some things never are, and we were. I’ll remember who I was when I met you. I’ll remember who you were and how we’ve both changed and stayed the same. I’ve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now. In just a few hours I will be able to tell you this in person for the first time in winter and for the first time not by the lake.

Kate