Where is that thing that is going to consume me?
Who is that one who will reflect me?
What is the reason that I am here?
I sit at my desk, eyes closed, listening to Moonlight Sonata, and I type what enters my mind. I’m not looking at my screen or thinking about my words, just letting my fingers flow across the keyboard like I imagine Beethoven as he played. Not to say that my words are anything on the level of the classical master.
I want to be famous. I need an audience. I crave that attention.
I want to be loved. I need a partner. I crave that stability.
I want to be free. I need to go. I crave the world.
If life were like music, things would be easy. We’d expect the ups and downs, the changes in tempo, and the cacophony might be wrong or right, depending on the song. A chord would make sense and there would be no what ifs or should Is or shouldn’t Is. “We make beautiful music together” would be objective.
My car is a rocket, the music my fuel, the thrill of speed my motivation.
My home is a memorial, the walls my thoughts, the bed my salvation.
My life is a mess, a puzzle in pieces with no solution.
I am drawn to those who are strong yet broken, beautiful yet unaware, exemplary yet missing a piece. This is a pattern that I repeat happily because these are the people who build the world and keep it from crumbling while everyone else shuffles around uselessly. We do what we do because there is no other choice.
You read this and shake your head at my crazy.
You think of me and it makes you smile.
You hate that of which I remind you.
The song repeats over and over again, so loud that my windows vibrate (I wish they would shatter). Classical music helps me see order in the limbo that is my life. My fingers hit a cadence on the keyboard matching the beat and for a moment, in the dark, I am completely in sync with my little world.