Of Music and Tears

Why Music Makes Me Cry

Dear Sara,

I hope the world has been kind to you. The universe has this amazing way of finding spanners and an even better knack of throwing them. I hope these words find you well and relatively spanner-free. I hope you got my other letters, I hope they put a smile on your face.

I ran across a beautiful song and remembered that moment when you asked me why I never play some songs. Why I am hasty with that next button. Why I would rather skip a beautiful song than bask in the lyrical beauty that is Phil Collins in Everyday. Or nearly callously hop over Name by The GooGoo Dolls, and get that faraway look when they play Iris. well, you see, my love, It makes me cry.

Do I say this as some faux clutch at masculinity? No. You’ve seen my tears. Probably too many of them. I have no problem with letting the rivers flow. It’s good for the burdened soul. Cathartic. Quieting. and that I am very fine with. But some songs speak to the very core of my soul. to the very definition of who I am. Like strings in a yarn, they have been woven into the fabric that is my nature. They were the soundtracks to my life. The old songs played on a cassette tape before being put to bed by my dad. They were the background to evenings spent talking about hopes and dreams by a fireplace with my mom. They were the ever-quiet, ever-present beats by which hours were spent, homework written, laughter had and tears shed. and when they play, the resonate. Each guitar chord from that speaker resonating with a piece of me, evoking rhythm from my soul. Evoking memory. And it is beautiful.

And I cry. For it is within the music I see myself. As I was back then. As I am now. it is an auditory mirror, a time-machine into the past allowing me to see the bright-eyed child who never understood what growing up really meant. And I see the man bidding me goodnight, and the glowing embers of a dying fire, and I mourn the passing of a child, not into the beyond but into the path of adulthood.

It is all a path, is it not, this journey called life. We are on it before we know it, taught the ropes by those who come before. We walk the path and branch by decision, walk down the path of consequence and hope the waypoints be safe. We pray that the inns at which we lay our heads protect us. Once in a while, we find someone, someone willing to walk a path with us. And we show them our scars, we show them our map, every point of interest we’d like to stop by. And they, if fate deems it fit, share theirs, and off we wander, to the great unknown. Everyone’s destination is the same, Everyone’s path is different.

And every once in a while, we see a landscape similar to one before, and memory beckons. The syren’s call to days gone. And how can I not respond? My soul sings. And my eyes water.

So let me hit that button once in a while. For the reverie is not a place within which to live. And if you see the tears in my eyes, worry not, just hold my hand and let’s keep walking

Yours,

Lawrence

#Letters #Music #Tears