Monday, June 9, 2014

A Love Letter to Elton

Dearest Elton,

I realize you receive fan mail from star struck individuals boasting of your talent and complementing you on your lively use of velvet attire and that dangling cross earring you sometimes wear in your right ear, but this – this is different.  This is to confess a love that far surpasses that sappy, boy band keenness those other yanks think they feel.  Allow me to elaborate… When asked a cheesy life question pertaining to whom you’d choose to dine, chat or meet with if given the opportunity, I forgo the typically stockpile Gandhi, Jesus, or lost friend answers and choose you.  Because, quite honestly – aren’t you all of the above?

As a young child, I heard my mother play all of your albums in her gold Cutlass Ciera, or the “Cut Dog” as we coined it.  I watched as her mood gradually shifted from frustrated, single mother of three to a woman singing “Your Song” with uncharted ambition, desire and a full heart.  To be fair, we all felt the magic, but I suppose you are well aware of the powerful, strongholds your music has on one’s emotions.  Personally, as a young, twenties something with no notable music background, I think that’s what you do best.  You play for people who “keep it turned on”.  You play to inspire, to create connections, and I hope to reflect your own personality - because that’s what I’ve come to believe.  When Diana died, I thought I knew her.  Because I thought I knew you, and “Candle in the Wind” contributed more tears than the divorce of my parents, or the accidental burning of my Barney pillow.  Your music allowed me to feel a connection to a world I knew little about.  It continually challenged me to play piano sheet music that clearly surpassed my mediocre skills, forced me to belt out “Levon” – though I didn’t know the full meaning of longing and desperation present in the lyrics, and proved to be the root of a lifelong mockery as I once mistook the chorus to Tiny Dancer for “hold me close I’m trying to dance here”.  Be it intentional or an accidental correlation, you consistently proved to be there through the challenging moments of a young life in transition.  That’s love, friend.  A love I still have found no match to.

There was, in honesty, a brief moment when I took into great consideration your preferred gender.  However, that instant quickly faded as my deep, unrequited love rushed to barricade all rationality and typicality from entering into the dark corners of my small brain function.  I was, and remain, a young girl in love.  So, despite those other guys and gals in line, I like to think you’d choose me in the long run.  Or, at the very least, maybe pencil me into that little black book of lovers.  It’s going to happen - if only for one night.

Civic Center.  Charleston, West Virginia.  Wednesday night.  Be there with your red shoes on.


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