She closed her eyes and let the music take control of her. Even in complete darkness, she saw musical notes jump and fly in the air, waiting for someone to make sense of them, waiting for someone to catch them and turn them into meaningful strings of art. As soon as her fingers touched the black and white keys, her sense of reality snapped. Her mind was drugged and she was carried away to another world, to another paradise. A sudden rush of adrenaline pumped her heart and kept her blood flowing to the right place. For a few minutes, she wasn’t caged and her wings weren’t cut free. She wasn’t the junkie daughter of a thief. She wasn’t the liar who would steal bread everyday just to feed her empty stomach. She wasn’t the outlaw, she wasn’t the flawed monster. At that moment, all felt was her true self. A self not defined by blood but by art. When life would strangle her, music would lend it’s brittle hands and save her. It would give her air, when she could not breathe. It would free her lungs and untangle her soul.
When the tunes would blend together to make a symphony, that was when she felt like herself, that was when she felt truly free.
For her, it didn’t just feel like playing the piano, like following instructions to make a suffocating song with restraints placed in every nook and corner. No, for her it felt like therapy.
It felt good.
It felt amazing.
But of course, it was more than therapy, more than just an imaginary pill. She unlocked the keys and the keys unlocked life. Her life. The life she was meant to live. Each note felt like a story, each melody branching out to form multiple realities.
When Peter met MJ, his whole life turned around. He would swing her around New York and hand her a pass. A pass he had given no one. A pass to his darkest side, in hopes that she would be able to cleanse him. She would be able to save him and she would be able to make him forget. But that wasn’t what she did. She didn’t erase his pain, she didn’t wipe his tears. She didn’t tell him that it was okay, for she knew it wasn’t. Instead, she held his hand and hugged him. She composed a song in silence. When he looked at her, he saw hope. She made life easier to handle. She made the pain easier to deal with.
Music is the MJ of not just one person, but millions.
It isn’t a hobby, it’s a necessity.
It isn’t art, it’s sustenance.
It’s beauty wrapped in the powerful veil of truth.
When a piece of music is played, the composer and the listener are one.
They are bound by nostalgia, guilt and pleasure.
They are bound by that feeling of being alive..
It is why most artists plug in their instruments, when life feels hard to take.
It is why most of us plug in our earphones, when we think we’re nothing but a mistake
Many of us, live for our loved one’s sake
But music gives us a purpose, a permanent bandage to hearts that break.
Wonderfully written Ria..God bless you with much more creativity