A
PAINFUL
PLAYFUL
PROCESS
SONG

We gathered up our things one day
and set them out to give away. Old dresses, toys, books and a chair — for people who might care and share.

We laughed while clearing out the room,
made space for something new to bloom. We played and packed and sang out loud,
feeling spaciousness, feeling proud.

But then the truck came down our street,
with grinding gears and heavy beat. It grabbed our things up off the ground
and crushed them with a terrible sound.

I felt it in my chest and bones,
the cracking, snapping, bending moans. I watched our care get pressed and torn — I stood there, frozen, lost, and worn.

You looked at me with puzzled eyes,
not understanding how or why. I reached the driver at his door — "Without a sign, it's gone. No more."

We didn't know we needed a sign,
a little note, a single line:
"Please reuse these, they still have life" — without it, everything was lost to strife.

The truck pulled off and drove away,
your things were gone — they couldn't stay. And when you heard, you understood,
and something broke inside of you.

You ran and screamed down our whole street,
chasing the truck with racing feet. You screamed until the driver heard — he stopped the truck without a word.

He stepped outside, he looked at you,
but there was nothing he could do. I ran to you and held you close,
you screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.

We sat together on the ground,
and all the world was just that sound. Your voice, your tears, the empty street — a moment frozen in the heat.

Your screams went through me like a blade,
I felt the mess that we had made. I couldn't fix it, couldn't speak — just hold you while we both were weak.

The crash, the crush, that awful sound — it planted something in the ground. And what grew up between the cracks
is this: a song that loves you back.

The pictures came back in your head,
they followed you right into bed. They knocked and knocked and wouldn't leave,
reminding us we need to grieve.

Like mommy's knee that sometimes screams — pain tells us what the body needs. If we keep saying "go away,"
it only screams out more each day.

The crash, the crush, that awful sound — it planted something in the ground. And what grew up between the cracks
is this: a song that loves you back.

So next time we will make a sign:
"Please reuse these" — a simple line. Our feelings found their hands and feet
and walked right out onto the street.

There's a part of us that wants to hide,
lock the door and stay inside. "Don't put anything out again,
don't risk the hurt, don't risk the pain."

But there's a part that knows we must — let go of things, rebuild our trust. The two parts argue, push and pull,
and that's the game, that is the rule.

Painful process, playful process,
that's how we learn and grow. Painful process, playful process,
feel and let it flow.

Each equinox the truck comes round,
we'll hear that same old rumbling sound. But this time we'll know what to do — a sign, a word, a way that's true.

We'll mess it up a different way,
there's always something new to say. And every mistake that we make
is just another piece of the play —

Because the game is never done,
it's not a game that can be won. The game is played by those who stay,
who feel the pain and still will play.

Painful process, playful process,
that's how we learn and grow. Painful process, playful process,
feel and let it flow.

If it weren't for the pain we knew,
this song would not be here for you. The hurt that made us cry and shake
is why we sing for both our sake.

We gathered up our things one day…
and found a song along the way.