Turn It Around

A friend sent me this song a week or so ago, and it came back to me on my bikeride to work today, riding as I did with my new perspective about love:

She felt comatose waiting for this thing to grow
She's impatient 'cause she wants it now and so it shows
She can't be bothered by the ties that bind her
She's seen ivy when it strangles everything it holds

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of her telescope
Turn it around, turn it around

It does feel like I'm turning it around, but it comes in fits and starts. It's not a linear process, as much as I wish it were:

She closed the door with the intention of not looking back
But missed her step because she didn't have a steady track
She can't be bothered by the mistakes she's made
But she's forgetting that's what guides you to the rightful path

A friend asked me in an email this week if it feels good to see my time with my New Englander as a place to learn. Nope. At least, that's my initial answer. I just don't think I'm there yet. I'll get there. I know I will. But my heart and another part of me that was especially fond of him are still too busy feeling like they got a raw deal to muster up any gratitude about what I learned. Perhaps that's the wrong end of my telescope? I'm telling you, I'm dong my best to turn it around, but I can't force it to happen any faster than it happens:

She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end
She's looking through the wrong end of her telescope
Turn it around, turn it around