The Man Before the War

Mom said before the war

You carried your guitar everywhere.

Bus stations.

Street corners.

Little bars nobody remembers now.

A notebook full of songs.

A head full of plans.

You talked about the future

Like it already had your name on it.

I found old photographs.

You were smiling in every one.

Standing with friends.

Holding that same guitar.

Looking like nothing in the world

Could take it away.

Then the letters came.

Then the train left.

Then the photographs changed.

I never met the man before the war.

I only met the stories.

The one who laughed.

The one who sang.

The one they still talk about.

I never met the man before the war.

I met the years after.

I met the silence.

I met the scars.

Mom said when you came home

Something stayed gone.

You still had the same face.

The same name.

The same voice.

But everybody noticed.

The music got quieter.

The drinking got louder.

The crowds got smaller.

The anger got bigger.

Your friends talked about

The good old days.

Your family talked about

The bad nights.

And somehow

They were talking about the same man.

Some blamed the war.

Some blamed you.

I wasn’t there.

I only know what survived.

I never met the man before the war.

I only met the stories.

The dreamer.

The musician.

The father trying to hold on.

I never met the man before the war.

I met the years after.

I met the damage.

I met the cost.

I found your records in a cardboard box.

Dust on every cover.

I played them one by one.

Trying to hear the person

Everybody missed.

Trying to find the distance

Between who you were

And who you became.

Maybe people don’t break all at once.

Maybe it happens slowly.

One disappointment.

One mistake.

One regret at a time.

Until the person in the mirror

Looks like somebody else.

I never met the man before the war.

But I hear him in the records.

I hear him in the stories.

I hear him in the spaces

People still don’t talk about.

I never met the man before the war.

But sometimes late at night

When the music starts spinning

I think he’s still here.

Maybe that’s why

Mom never threw the records away.

Maybe she was holding onto

The part of you

The world couldn’t take.

(Harmonica enters softly)

I thought I had more time…

I thought I’d make it home…

One more song…

Then I’ll come home…

(Harmonica continues)

I think I finally found you.

(Harmonica fades into silence)