There are phone numbers I call when I am having a bad day. I count on the call not being answered. I count on that because I want to listen to the music on the other end while I wait for my call to not be answered. Today my son asked why I had called three times. I need to ask him next time what it is I am listening to. It isn’t this song. It’s like this only different.
I keep a list in my back pocket of phrases I read in books, phrases straight from my daughter’s mouth. She and I ran the pups just the other night. The list fell from my back pocket. We picked it up and I read the list to her. She doesn’t remember telling me about how she could watch the world go smash. We talked about another item on the list. I told her I had been thinking of how there could be such a sorrow that no matter how many languages one could say forgive me in, it still might not be enough. She said – but what if you didn’t know how to say forgive me in any language. That could be more worse. In that case, I think, you should call my son’s phone number and listen to the song his phone plays. And until I figure out what the name of that song is, try listening to this instead.