conversations and kitchen tables.

The song Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars has been on repeat just about everywhere I go lately.  While I will happily boast that my roommate thinks I have a slight resemblance to the singer, I only wish my voice did as well.  The song goes like this:

You only know what I want you to
I know everything you don’t want me to
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine
Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine
Oh I don’t love you but I always will
Oh I don’t love you but I always will
Oh I don’t love you but I always will
I always will

I wish you’d hold me when I turn my back
The less I give the more I get back
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise
I don’t have a choice but I still choose you
Oh I don’t love you but I always will
I always will

This song is playing right now as I sit at our new, honeydew-green kitchen table with my dear friend Whitney (along with my new red hair, red nails and lipstick, this table makes me feel very Mad Men-esque).

I adore Whitney more than most.  She is one of the very few people who I can have 8 hour conversations with that feel like 8 minutes.  She never judges in her expressions or words and she is possibly one of the most validating people I know.  Whit has this effortless way of making your craziness feel normal, your feelings important, and your existence more meaningful.

We both came home from work today to a heavy conversation that began over cooking dinner in the kitchen, continued with chocolate chip cookies and wine and laughter, and ended with us sitting here in silence at our new table, hours later.  We didn’t expect our night to turn out this way—after a long Monday, she has books to read and I have Dexter to watch.  But some days our bodies seem to gravitate towards community without us even realizing it.  Some nights we need to come home to conversations that carry weight to know that our days weren’t spent in vain.  And sometimes we just simply want a friend.

I wish you’d hold me when I turn my back
The less I give the more I get back

We need people in our lives.  We can’t go this alone.  Whatever it looks like to you to have humans to lean on and support in turn, run to them and hold on with everything you have.

And a new kitchen table doesn’t hurt either.