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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Feelings

When it hurts to be numb

Twisting the knife in your own back

Is all you can do to feel something.

Then you float on the high

Of knowing that you are still human

And you once knew the opposite of pain.