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Description
I drew a line in the sand, when I came to a certain age.
I promised to leave the darker things in life to rot in their sorrowful state.
To enjoy a crude joke or two, a power outage in the middle of March.
A Pink Floyd album, even if it skips more than it should.

I promised my loved ones, even my distant friends, that I would appreciate them with everything.
To shake my head and chuckle at past times,
Remind them of that "one time" where someone was bound to make a mistake, come home wet or heartbroken.
I swore to skinnydip and kan-kan, muck around and trip.

I told my mother and my sister that I would give them humor, disregard their impatience and my own hot temper.
I listened to the Beatles with them, sang along and recalled a better childhood.
James Taylor and John Lennon, David Bowie and Eric Clapton.

I tossed my metal into the drawers, and dusted off my techno.
I made a prank call or two, went for a walk down the street.
I sang, I danced, I skipped about topless under the moon. I became a child again for a split second, easily amused and willling to compromise.

And these simple things, including a smile and a nod,
made all the difference.