There's a Wilco song in which Jeff Tweedy sings, "When I forget how to talk I sing..." Those lyrics have been running through my head. Sometimes when things are hard or really sad or whatever, conversation just doesn't bring answers. No amount of wishing changes that. But with art, there exists this delicate quiet whose simplicity is both grand and amorphous. And somehow in that space, where there are no words spoken, I find what I need.
Which is why I bought a guitar tonight.
