Grief Written

I found a guitar pick in my sock drawer, Another in my purse, And one in a little metal tin that I kept sticks of watermelon gum in. You have so many you probably haven't noticed their absence, But I noticed their appearance. You've lost them and I've found them, Little pieces of you coming to remind me of when I used to steal them from your teeth or hands. I've saved them in a jar, not because I think they'll make their way back to you, but because it's nice to have reminders of where I've been and the parts of you I've seen. I hope my little lost pieces are being found by you too.

I can't sleep, My windows are open because I felt like I needed some fresh air. I used to sleep with the windows open when I was a child, Even when we went camping I would unzip all the windows in the tent and run my fingers against the mesh. I haven't slept with my windows open in a long time, a girl got stolen once, out her window, so I started shutting them. Locking them, and relocking them. I wanted to keep people out, But I missed the fresh air. Occasionally I let some people in, But they could never stay long. Now I just open my windows for the fresh air and the peace. The knowledge that no one is coming in but they could if they'd like to. We could look at the stars from my bed, craning our necks to see outside. I bet you're wondering why this is called ukulele and things, and if I were a good writer I wouldn't just tell you, but I'm going to. Because people could use a little bluntness and honesty. I'm playing the ukelele with the win...