On Music

I miss the days when what I listened to didn’t matter.  The bands I liked were unheard of by most of the people I hung out with, because they had been put on my iPod by my brother.  But that didn’t even matter.  I sifted through his collection and fell in love with bands all on my own.
I don’t remember talking about music all the time, but maybe I did.  I know that I listened to it all the time.  I used to lay in bed and let nostalgic voices sing me to sleep.

That’s all changed now.  I find myself becoming self-conscious of what I keep on my iPhone, since I got rid of my iPod.  I don’t think about the fact that I am the one who will be listening to it the majority of the time.  I think about who will ride in my car and who will know the songs and who will like them.  If they seem disinterested I keep it a secret.  When I find something new I only show the best songs, but even those don’t always go over well.  Why can’t I just love what I love because I love it?

Music used to be my escape.  I could listen to a song and remember a time when it saved my life.  I could feel the lyrics and break down wrap their arms around me, holding me in place so I wouldn’t fall away.  I didn’t have to talk to the strangers on the bus and every run seemed like an adventure.  Why did I change?  Where did I go?  It seems I now find music in the silence.

I wish I could talk about music the way Adam does.  I wish I could experience it the way Aaron does.  I can’t make it sound theological or tangible.  It seems I have loosened its grip on me and almost fallen off the edge of the canyon in the process.
Please grab me again.  Wrap me in your lyrics and spin in your riffs.  I only want to be in love again.

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