Slow dances that fly with moon dogs and speckled eggs that hover in hammocks of approval.Drops of sparkle that sing in slender beauty and warmth that rises on those songs.Oh it would be well, to step inside the place and extract a brightness.
A brightness that makes all horizons vertical.
It’s in my ears as I walk the broken sidewalks, as I step onto streets, as I sit on concrete benches.
It twists everything into a lemon lime sugar flavour. It’s bitter sweet.
For a few different reasons.
I’ve went a long time without it and I see what it does to me. It amplifies every step I take, it makes every strand of hair that blows away from me have purpose. It gives a story to each person I see. It makes me feel.
Any of these feelings can be felt without the power of music. But the intensity is elevated.
Miss rushes in severe enough to make me want to stop the songs.
But I don’t.
If music is listened to a lot, once we take it out of our system, do we feel less towards life?
Does the recognition of how good it was to feel at such a level make us believe we will never be able to feel that way in life without music?
Do we begin to rely on it to make us feel?