“Sing” Theresa says, “Sing happy things.”
And let me tell you one thing:
All I really want to do is to sing. Sing happy things.
Somehow, somewhere along the last few weeks, and past posts of Razorlight and Abbey Lincoln, something went wrong.
Universe, my universe, started to crack right beneath my feet. And I couldn’t do anything.
I kept thinking that my universe was better than that, that it worked on a principle of balance. My universe was strong, independent and all in all lucky.
It was lucky, probably because I never took too many risks with it, especially without multiple back-up plans.
So my universe did not crack open. It only cracked to give way for trees, and flowers, and hopes and dreams.
I built it with my bare hands, tended it the same way.
And now all I want is to sing happy things, but it’s as if my soul is robbed of all happy songs lately.
I want good things to happen again.
I don’t want to fall down this stupid crack.
I don’t want to watch it grow.
I don’t want it to give way to a grand abyss.
I am tired of constantly worrying about where I have to go next.
I am tired of not finding home.
I need my universe to heal. And I don’t know how to do it myself.
Not this time.
And all I want is to sing happy things.
That’s not a lot to ask for, don’t you think?