Music

Pic credits: Tammy York
Dear music
How do I start this letter? Should I yell at you first or tell you about how grateful I am for your existence or should I just ask you the question I have always wanted to ask "How do you do it?". 

I can't say that I have always been an ardent admirer of you. To be honest, I was more into fairy tales, stories and books when I was young. Not because I loved the stories or fell into the depth of all the words and meanings but because I felt like I was a part of a world that someone else made and they wanted someone to listen to it and I am a good listener. You see, I have always wanted to belong somewhere and the words made me a perfect cradle. But don't get jealous, I am here to talk about you. 

I used to listen to you at night just so I can sleep. It's not poetic in any way, don't be mistaken. I had a crush then and when you arrived I could easily make impossible scenarios inside my head and go to sleep when my brain gets tired. I told you it was not poetic but you were a major part of my love life, you can definitely take credit for that. 

But that is not how your story ends for me. If I could meet you, I'd ask you to sit with me. I'd ask you about your day, how do you manage to carry the solace, burden, sorrow, guilt and love of so many souls with you all the time. I'd rest my head on your shoulder and would watch the world with you. I'd ask you about how you perceive the world. How do you feel to be the button that bombard them with memories and nostalgia when they play you? How do you feel being responsible for so many thoughts, feelings and emotions? And I promise I would listen to you. Like I said I am a good listener.

You, oh my. I am always the happiest when I find you on my own. It feels like I opened a blank page and I get to write down what I feel about you. I'd show you off to the world, I'd listen to you all day until my heart, mouth and ears have become so accustomed to you that they'd beg for a change. But once in a while when I play you again, it feels like I came home from a trip. An intense feeling of belonging. 

I love it when people send you to me, but then you come along with a page full of details. The date, time, their first encounter with you, about what you are, how you made them feel, why they are sharing you with me. Sure, I love it all but you come with so many memories then. So many memories that one day I might want to forget or memories that I would cherish forever or memories that would made me cry. It's not because I love you any less when someone sends you to me, but it's because I'll start loving you more. Loving you more because of the person, because of all the association, because I was special enough to be invited to their home - you. 

I am a little disappointed in myself for realising your worth a bit late. Don't be sad, you have become a major part of my future. I can't stop fantasizing over our bonding when I buy a new home, all the beautiful and peaceful times I'd spent with you in my old age, and how I'd read this letter to you again. 
It does need a sweet note to bring you to tears then. So here goes. I am so abundantly grateful for all times you kept me company, all the times you made me cry, all the times you made me smile, all the times you urged me to dance, all the times you rocked me to sleep in your soft embraces, all the times you plunged me into someone's memories, and all the times you were there for me and others.

Sincerely
A new lover.

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