The city lights hide the stars. But, no matter, you had two little stars shining back at you. All your own. Something real. Something tangible. Terrifying. You'd watch them twinkle when you'd sing and play. I spotlight my very own bright shining country superstar project manager. That could be me someday.
Mom and dad becomes mom then dad. Of course, you were on tour. First Waterford 1986. Then York 1988. Dallastown 1991. The millions of screaming fans must have dampened my voice. Then there you were. Star Sunglasses, home for my weekend mini-tours. Then Fairfield 1997. Hagerstown 2000. Florida 2008. I hear it's warm there.
I've stopped touring these days. I have my own twinkle stars now. Amazing brilliant white lights--you'd be blinded if you saw em. They watch me sing and play. Sometimes even i need sunglasses. And then you're closer than you've ever been.
I don't know what this is supposed to be, but I like it.
Yeah, I think this is cool too, although the new historicist in me would like some background or context to understand it a little better.
That's a lovely piece--and I know you probably have the "itch" to tour again, if you're actually talking about touring. Once it's in the blood, I don't think it really leaves.
i just had something to get down. very late not much time to really work out the metaphors.
its more about dad and how the older i grown the farther away he's gone. the touring bit is about how he can't ever settle down. he wanted to be a country singer star but became a project manager instead. the real star was the twinkle in my eyes. finally now that i have kids i've realized this error and how i also get how something so bright and wonderful can be scary that i need to hide my eyes with the sunglasses and there's dad again.
great imagery, then, so you're to be congratulated.
and yeah, being a parent yourself means you learn A LOT about your own folks. often more than you really wanted to understand.