If dreams there be.

Stepping behind the pulpit, I became suddenly aware of the lack of security. No lyrics furiously scribbled on the back of the bulletin this day. I stood beside my guitar lovin' boy and he played to my cue. He went round again as I missed it but I was frozen in fear. This boy knew his way and pushed open the door so I could get my foot in. I still sang with uncertainty.

That ancient Sunday morning set an unpleasant precedent of performance anxiety. What had been relished in my bedroom mirror emerged with trepidation. Never again without a crutch.

I often wish I could connect with that boy in that way. While he engages and warms to a crowd, I suffer under it's glare. He will race ahead if you hesitate but patiently lead if you need. I'm hopeless without him.

Guitar lovin' boys approach life's other adventures with consternation. For him, it's only cozy with Guitarinhand. Give him a microphone. Otherwise, his song is uncertain. Patience can persuade him to see beyond the back stage door. His reluctance wanes but he exits with one eye closed.

I can always find him on the other side.



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