three
I am not here.
I am no longer on the stadium floor, standing under the fireworks and the falling rain. I am not sprinting to the backstage area, to gulp down water like I just ran marathons as I usually do. I am not thinking with relief that in a second, I will be in the back of the limo driving me back to the hotel.
Instead, I am remembering.
I am back in those woods, back before the woods.
I am remembering everything.
I am putting the pieces together, I am putting them back in place.
I am remembering everything correctly this time—as it really was.
I start telling the story to myself. There is a part of the story I know very well, but that is only my own point of view, my own part in it. I am now trying to complete her parts from what I have found out.
It's important, telling stories.
It’s what I have devoted my life to doing, after all. That’s what my songs are. Stories with just a few words and a whole lot of music. The important stories always are told with the fewest words.
But there are no words to contain the pain and agony of this story. Even so, I keep trying. I will remember it the right way this time.
I am no longer here.
I am inside the story.
Our story.
I take it, as Spece would say, from the start.