Friday, December 14, 2012

I Cried When I Wrote This

I grew up listening to the Carpenter’s Christmas Portrait album on vinyl.  One of my earliest holiday memories must have been when I was four or five and dancing to this album in our living room, which was lit solely by our Christmas tree.  I was wearing one of my white silk full-length slips because I thought it was prettier than the dress I was wearing over it.  It was trimmed in lace and I felt so elegant in it.  I also remember wearing black patent leather shoes that clicked when I walked—this was very important to me, as it made me feel like a big girl.

I remember my mom had candles lit, I even remember how the house smelled, and I danced in the living room to the music around the tree and felt that all-filled-up feeling in my heart that used to happen so often when I was little.  The best way I can describe it is a completely and overwhelmingly pure feeling of carefree excitement, almost how I would describe being high.  I absorbed the music and was so innocent and joyful.

It broke my heart to learn that we experience that feeling less and less as we become an adult.  Every few years I get a glimpse of it, but it is nothing like it used to be.  If they bottled and sold it, I would spend all of my money on it—it is the best feeling in the world.  Please don’t tell me heroin does this.

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