Birds Are Singing and Keeping Moi Awake At Night

Yes.

It's spring.

And with each spring comes this renewed surgence of the hopelessy, hopeful romantic in me. Even though I try my best to keep it all bottled up in that imaginary hand-blow glass sphere in my head that's all about the pretty with swirling-swirls of comet tails and overflowing with hearts and stars that come from my eyes. I find myself using words like "adore" and "love" far too often when describing how I adore and love something, because I find I want to more truthful to the extent of my adoration and love. And I wonder far too often, just how he really feels, because in truth, I have no idea. But I do know the birds are singing in the wee hours of the morning. I'll lay in bed listening to their attempts to entice a new lady love to a Taj Mahal of twigs and grass with their songs. And that makes me think and it makes me wonder even more until I feel that funny feeling in the core of my soul that screams "Danger Will Robinson! Abort Stars In Eyes Mission! I repeat...abort Stars In Eyes Mission!" So I'll slip on my headphones and tune in the Killers on my iPod, finding some brief respite from the lovely, singing birds until I find I'm now wanting to jump out of bed and dance as I sing "Tell me what you want to know! Oh come on! Oh come on! Oh come on!" at the top of my lungs. Fingers rotate to another artist and another song that will keep me from hearing the birds. I always come to Duncan Sheik, and I let him sing me to sleep with "Home".