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.

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Yesterday

The absence of what was not

Is greater than the destruction of what was.

Memories of dreams of fantasies

Corrupted by reality’s untruths

Now drift down into the abyss.