I always seek out the melodies of life. A vacant silence is a torturous place for the mind, no matter what setting I happen to be in. Alongside a series of tears that run down my cheek as I weep, or if I am merely roaming the distance of wherever I take myself, I rely on music to motivate my unwilling mind. Unwilling to do the simplest tasks, it advises the best for me. 

Music is a best friend, a lover, a reliable companion. I am a product of the gift of music. A bittersweet, delicate piano kisses me goodnight and grants me needed hours of unconscious relaxation. It is soon to end, and I am shaken by the shoulders, ordered to rise before the sun. Wincing to an unnatural light, the warm blankets that I had come to love throughout the hours of the night were ripped off by 90s alternative acoustic guitar strumming and a light drumset. Through annoyance, there is still love. No other genre would be effortlessly compatible with driving early in the morning searching for the physical embarkment of the sunrise. 

I have not dreamt of one day passing without willingly losing grasp of my vigilant mind in music. It is a way out of the chaos people in life seem to enjoy creating. A path through the backend of each day. Is it possible for me to ever allow the hours to exceed my grasp containing a paralyzed silence?

Seated at the familiar wooden desk in my bedroom with headphones around my ears is a frequent position I find myself in. I bounce my head through each assignment, tapping my pencil to the rhythms, and humming the dulcet melody. The upbeat feeling of these songs drives my intellect to complete each task set out for my success. 

I find myself often astonished that I am able to experience music as I have. Words themselves are impotent to explain the meaning behind my emotions to an absolute. Music is something I will never be able to verbally appreciate to the fullest extent. 

How does one properly appreciate an intangible thing? 

When the days I live seem to get longer or more dreadful, I never think twice about a solution to the mess. I turn to music. Music has learned to perfectly pause my conscious existence for a little while. That period of time where my focus is turned from what is labeled as the “most important” in my life to something that I actually enjoy is comforting. It is a receptive release. 

Life often becomes a visually horrendous thing to experience and to look deeper, that is where one might find blooming roses in the prickly bushes. Breathing the sweet aroma of a freshly plucked rose is a memorandum to keep looking ahead. Progressing forward in my fantasy is where I belong. 

All of humanity deems their own roses differently. Whatever fills their cup to an adequate amount is what matters most. 

I would consider my rose to be music.