Our Knuckles are White.

We live high, our love gorges
on the alcohol we feed it
and it grows all fat and friendly
we have surplus if we need it
we hold on as hard as we can
our knuckles are white
we write letters to each other
invent secrets to confess to
I learn foreign and exotic terms of
endearment by which to address you
we feed fresh fruit to one another
we stay up all night
and I am healthy, I am whole
but I have poor impulse control
and I want to go home
but I am home
we are strong, we are faithful
we are guardians of a rare thing
we pay close careful attention
to the news the morning air brings
we show great loyalty 
to the hard times we’ve been through
We are filled with riches and wonders
Our loves keeps the things it finds
and we dance like drunken sailors
lost at sea, out of our minds
you find shelter somewhere in me
I find great comfort in you
and I keep you safe from harm
you hold me in your arms
and I want to go home
but I am home

Sometimes, you hear the right song at the right time and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Over the past 3 months, I, as well as many of my friends, have been listening to a lot of The Mountain Goats. Not only because they are fantastic, but mostly for our friend. For whatever reason, the band rarely comes up on my iPod.

Today driving home from work, the song “Riches and Wonders” came on. If this song has fists, it would’ve punched me right in the heart. Its a song that I’ve loved for years, but the meaning has changed a little bit since July. Maybe it just caught me off guard today…I’m not sure. But boy, did it strike a sensitive nerve. A thousand memories flashed through my head in an instant. All once happy memories that now just give me a painful nostalgic feeling when I think about the laugh and the smile I will never see or hear again.