I am feeling very musical. Kind of like a little bird that must siiiiiiiing it’s little heart out from the branches of a tall, wide tree.

I’m hearing music in the silence, and composing infinite flute harmonies around it. I’m dreaming of it, breathing it, and my hands and my lungs itch to make wild notes in the air.

If I hadn’t been a musician once before, I’d think I were turning crazy.

In the meantime, I grow frustrated with my prose, that it doesn’t hold the depth and beauty that my regurgitated-from-notation music does. I get grumpy, seeing the dullness of my words. Point blank, I ache to write as subtly and emotionally and honestly as music.

And I know it can be done. I hear it in my head, in strange resonances. I feel it in myself, a thrumming just below the surface.

Someday, I will succeed.


4 thoughts on “musicality

  1. I think that you’ve already succeeded in many different ways. I know that you have lovely prose, and that you are amazing. If you weren’t, people wouldn’t love you like they do.

  2. I think words can resonate just as truly as music can. Sometimes even more so. It’s harder to judge that on your own, though, I feel. I mean, when you play music, you’re simultaneously hearing it emerging from the instrument and you can hear that you’re hitting the right notes and you can instantaneously hear it all flow together in a beautiful harmony.
    With words, the process is slower, I think. You need to look at your words with a fresh perspective in order to sense the magic in them, and sometimes only outside input can convince you that there IS magic there.

    I hope what I’m saying makes some sense ^_^”.

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