In a Time Lapse, Gloria

It's really just a beautiful album. It's both simplistic and grand. The subtle use of electronics adds a lot to the overall feel—it's almost cinematic. There is something about the sound of the rhythmic violins repeating the same chords over and over in certain sections that feels exactly like when your heart is breaking because it's so full—breaking at a moment of beauty.

Do you remember the happiest day of your life? Was it a day that you were told should be the happiest—a wedding, a graduation, the birth of a child, some other milestone? Or was it a moment that was so remarkably simple?

Simple in a way that it felt revolutionary. Simple in a way that you felt fully present.

Did you know it was the happiest day when you were in that moment, or did you find out after reflecting on it? If you knew, did you feel desperate to keep that feeling? So desperate that, maybe, you lost the feeling?

Each song builds and builds until it overwhelms me. The strings swell again, and so does my heart. The piano slips in, and I want to shrink down to nothing and crawl between its soundboard and frame. I want to stay there until I feel the music as the flesh of my body.

There are times when I envy music. I envy it for its ability to possess your whole person. I envy it for its ability to be heard. For its ability to bridge the space between two people. For it's way to speak a language that anyone can understand.

So often, I feel like I can hardly speak my native tongue in a way that people can understand.

I have dozens of journals sitting empty for years because I know that my words are not beautiful enough to write down. Let alone be heard.

I've felt like this since childhood—so many unused journals that I've bought since I was small and can't bring myself to write in, some almost 30 years later. They are still perfectly blank. This blog is the first time I've ever written, and the only reason I can write here is because I'm not writing, I'm typing, and my words can be deleted at any moment. 

My words here take up no physical space and destroy nothing pristine by existing.

But how does it feel to write something like this and have someone actually hear you?

How does it feel to be music?

I will never possess you like music.

I can hardly be heard.