Musings: On the treachery and torture of music

I love music.

I hate how it captures the totality of a moment (forever)

the depth, the smell, the feel.

More so the terrible than the great.

Four minutes become a deceptively ruinous echo

Prying open old chests

Blowing the dust of times past into your nostrils

Suffocating you on a phantom pain that you can only recall

not relive.

It hurts to remember how much a time hurt,

And that the burden of the pain has already passed.

So you are left with an unbearable lightness

of being.

Tortured to tearlessness.

I love music.




When words are but a trickle

of the forceful river upstream

dammed by thoughts

damned by the fear

of unleashing the raw power of uncensored emotions.

“I need you; your existence is the reason I start each day”

seeps out as a safe and unassuming “hey”.

“I hate you so much for ruining my life”

becomes a quiet but poisonous “bye”.