I’ve got a confession to make: I’m in love with Lyle Lovett. I’m fairly comfortable making this declaration out loud in writing because the only person who reads JOTS is on holiday. (I do so hope My Reader remembers to bring me a present.)
You must realize by now that Lyle and I have a long distance relationship. Very long distance. He lives in another state. I live here. He’s on stage somewhere. I’m still here. It’s not the distance that gets in the way. It’s the fact that we’ve never met. My Reader says that could be a problem. Could be…
There’s probably not much I don’t like about Lyle. I love his hair and the way it curls straight up. I’m not sure if that’s natural…straight curls…but it looks like he’s always in a good mood because his hair is so…tall. I imagine walking into a room and Lyle saying “Oh, I’m so happy to see you’re still here!” but his hair says it first. Tall hair. Hair that shouts genuine surprise at seeing someone in love with you. A good thing. (Please, don’t tell My Reader I said that.)
I like the way he stands. Straight and tall. Like his hair. Tee-shirts. White tees under button-down collar shirts. I like how he wears them. I just like how he wears.
I like the way he shows up in movies. Out of the blue. Through a door. Around a pick-up truck. There he is. Like a gift.
Speaking of gifts. Lyle’s words spoken in melody and sound are my undoing. It’s his gift of thought. I told you I loved him. Now you know why.
I don’t have a pick-up truck but I do have a front door. He hasn’t shown up.
Out of the blue.
Standing straight and tall.
Silently asking to come through.
Yet.
Jots from a Small Apt. 