(Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers, soon to be mothers, and especially my mother.  As badly as I may have wanted to write about that wonderful woman, I have to honor the purity of the freewrite.  Then I found this gem from Sir Paul McCartney.  Day 131….)

We three, we’re all alone, living in a memory…

They hate the possessive tone their labels have.
They don’t like belonging to anyone
Let alone me.
They treat me like the third person
Mocking the way I talk
Mimicking the way I walk
But always following me.

One’s drawn to my light
The arrogance of wanting to be seen keeps him around.
The winters caused by facing him would bury silly February superstitions in the ground
He causes my brainstorms to manifest in blizzard form.

The other is enamored with my voice
Repeating what I say like an annoying sibling desperate for attention
Whether the walls are made of brick, granite, or my own skull
Conversations with him symbolize the empty space surrounding us
They’re as pointless as screaming into fissures just to hear what you’d sound like.

But we travel together
Making sense of me
Dependant on me to show them the world
And I depend on them to let me know that darkness is everywhere
And my voice can reach across canyons to people that need to know someone is out there sounding just like them.