Late summer sundown, everything turned to shadow boxes and silhouettes. Drive past the stone house you grew up in, so long since you left, memories faded into haze like a feverdream. The wooden desk in your old bedroom, prayers you carved into the drawer as a child, is long since gone, succumbed to wood rot, bleached out by the sun. You tell yourself those prayers went unanswered, that you are the last static figure, still that same child. Push aside this fable you’ve created for yourself; seasons have changed you too. Days turned years spent mixing hope with regret; stirring mud with still water, an endless cessation of your own waves.
Dusk is when everything feels familiar; in daylight this place is too bright to remember, dizzy sidewalks wind and double back. Paths you grew up on and yet, never lead you to anywhere you could call home. When you’re truly home, there is no more suffering.
Scrape your heels into the dry earth, claw relentless into the parched clay beneath you, unyielding like your mother taught you to be. Give up only on the grudge you’ve held against yourself, you owe yourself no penance, no conscripted recitations over rosaries. Make a home within yourself; forgive that you are not yet where you want to be.
July rain leaves its ghost; damp air hangs heavy, wraps itself around your shoulders; impermanent but still serving as solace and courage to keep looking forward. Soft voice echoes, kindred heart’s melody bringing comfort. Duality of being, heavy burdens come hands entwined with boundless blessings. Time passes in little deaths; mourn for them only so you can move forward.
Take a listen to My First Love Mends My Final Days for yourself. Mathew Lee Cothran’s full digital discography can be found here.
[Visit full site to view media]my first love mends my final days by mathew lee cothran