Turning to Music

The other day, I had time to think. So, I took it (time), myself and my guitar to the beach off of A1A.

The wind was blowing just enough to muffle the sound of my singing and strumming -- a protective shield for me to "let go" and just sing and play free from judgment. Free to attempt the high notes and strum to a different beat. Free to forget verses and make up new ones. Free to fantasize and feign being in love.

I sang with my eyes closed. I played until even my already calloused fingers ached. Ani Difranco - "Overlap." Ray LaMontagne - "Shelter." John Mayer - "Dreaming with a Broken Heart." Rosi Golan - "Hazy."

With these borrowed lyrics, I sang of building each song out of glass so you could see me inside them. I sang of being killed by the very things that made us live. I sang of falling asleep with roses in my hands. I sang of forgetting who I am and wondering who would remind me.

I am no singer or guitarist. And certainly no performer. I just love music. It is one of the few things I willingly succumb to. I turn to music when my soul feels like a Jackson Pollock splatter painting of emotions and plead for it to help me filter down to how I feel. I turn to music when I need "that song" to bring me back to how I felt that distant day during that soulful sunset with that special someone. I turn to music and it always obliges. And with music inside me, I always turn and turn and turn.