You might not think it was much, if you walked by.
Just a quiet night at a local restaurant, music spilling out of an opening door into the darkened street.
Folky and sweet; a small group of listeners at tables, laughter and chatter swelling and hushing again.
But this is my life- these people, this music.
Playing our songs, fingers fumbling at times but harmonies sure and true. Listening to our friends play a set after my band finishes; the crowd grows smaller as it gets later but we stay and watch til the end.
My lover sketches the old-fashioned microphone on stage, his deft fingers turning it into a comical skeleton figure in his notebook. My ex and his girl sit just ahead of us; my mother and my guy's mother are sitting opposite us at the table. Years of love and stories, all around me. An old friend from out of town came through the door earlier tonight, making my jaw drop in delight as I played a song. Other friends came by to celebrate the night with us.
We may have only walked away with a few dollars each; we may have battled a bad sound system and our own musical mistakes but the songs we sing, the friendships in this room, the history we have- it means everything.
Nights like this I remember why I am a musician.