"I find a fatal flaw in the logic of love"

Music never forgets. Feelings one hasn’t experienced in years come flooding back at the mere memory of a chord. A song is like a snapshot of a musicians’ soul. Long after the songwriter emerges from the moment, the song remains as a testament to that particular moment’s feelings, thoughts and convictions.

I’m haunted by a melody from my childhood. It’s a love song penned by my father to my mother. I can barely remember his soft, musty voice serenading the nighttime as his fingers danced upon guitar strings. For a wedding present, my dad had the lyrics written in brown calligraphy onto a giant piece of framed paper that hung from our wall until I was twelve. It hung from our wall until he left.

I can’t remember the song in its entirety, but fragments return to me if I concentrate hard enough. It’s full of beautiful promises, hopes and dreams. It turns my stomach to think how drastically wrong it all turned out to be.

“So look in my eyes and tell me that you’ll stay. My love for you will never go away.”

Little more than 20 years later, the songwriter sang a different tune. I often wonder what went wrong-- and of course I have my theories-- but life never works itself out in simple cause-and-effect relationships. Life’s tragedies are built upon a multitude of wounds, missteps, accidents and misunderstandings. Untangling the mass to reach some sort of solution seems an impossible task. Suffice it to say the road from “I do” to “I never loved you” must be a twisting and painful one, a path based on the faulty idea that marriage is a contract that can be broken if its terms are not satisfactorily met.

Does the fact that nothing in the song worked out invalidate my father’s past feelings? I honestly don’t know. I’d have to travel back in time more than 10 years prior to my own conception to know the answer to that one. Still, the song remains a passionate exposition of my father’s long-forgotten desires. I find myself returning to these few lines in my memory as I try to catch a glimpse of my parents’ past. The photo albums have long been stashed away. The music provides my only window.