How is it that a few perfectly paced piano keys followed by chimes, drums, and guitar strums reverberate so deeply, I can’t help but pause and close my eyes? There was pounding on my chest, a smile on my lips. By the end of the music, my mind has already crossed seas and soared clouds: I was high.
But, for what? What is this longing? Why does a musical piece I haven’t heard before sound so fondly endearing: it’s as though its rhythm and beats and conscious pauses were familiar friends who know me and lie in wait for my passing again. Those voices–in the music, and mine–how they so terribly define sculpted terraces of my mind, evoking images of where I want to be and where again.
Travels, trees, and tests of time. Again, I am happy and weepy all at once. Thunders and rainfalls, lightnings and hills. I am there again.
These voices, I strain to listen.
Maybe, one day, I’ll stand up and, finally, follow them.