Broken Horses
When a book makes you homesick;
When its author — someone whose job is to connect with people via music — makes it so that you can see the mysterious evergreen forests, smell the damp soil, hear the waves of Puget Sound from the deck of a ferry;
When you realize that you missed her musical launch in Seattle’s clubs because at that point you were an oblivious diagonal line across the country;
When you understand that her first home was not far from where your grandparents lived for a time, near the airport;
When you look at a map of the places she writes about and realize that although your upbringing was quite different, because of all the tentacles coming from your own, tiny life — familial and otherwise — you think, “I get it”;
When you can’t quit listening to Party of One — the version with Sam Smith — and don’t tell me the ending isn’t magical, with its symphonic swelling (3’ timestamp):
“And I’m coming home
‘Cause I am yours,
I am yours, I am yours…”
When you know you’ll never live there again — and you don’t even particularly want to — but it still sometimes holds your heart and squeezes.
There are musicians and writers everywhere, reminding us of our roots. Are you listening?
Broken Horses, by Brandi Carlile.
originally published on instagram