Music

The power of music is undeniably strong; it can be of great inspiration but it can demoralize too, it can be the cause of great joy but it can also be the cause of great sorrow. It can be the small thing that underpins a great day, just there in the background but yet somehow it’s the one thing that holds the whole moment together. It can be the conversation when no words are spoken and you just stand there together dancing, the music just sinking into you. Music can be company when no one else is anywhere to be seen, it can be your lullaby when there is no one to sing to you anymore.

Music doesn’t change; music doesn’t grow and evolve to suit your life, when you change, when you grow those songs you once held so dear stay forever the same. A song recorded the year you met your lover will always sound the same, each chord the same as it was when first played. No, music does not change. But the way in which you hear it does. The feelings and the emotions music can make erupt from you can change. A song you once loved can become the bane of your existence. We attach feelings to music and when those feelings are damaged, broken or otherwise abused, that song that you once loved will never be heard the same way again.

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Sabaw Song of the Week

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Stay

by Sara Bareilles

Saturday, empty room, filled with people 

It don't mean a thing to

You and I, holding hands

Nobody knows, nobody understands

I don't care for sunlight

That only means it's over

And I'm in no mood for that

Stay tonight

Don't come morning, don't come light

They may be lies, say it, say that we'll be alright

If we stay tonight

My hands are shaking

This is a complicated love with me

Keep your eyes closed, I've seen it baby

I've seen where this goes

Stay tonight

Don't come morning, don't come light

They may be lies, but say that we'll be alright

If we stay tonight

Gonna feel it baby

Oh I don't wanna cry

I know we'll get to tomorrow and say goodbye

That's what I'm asking for

Tonight

Stay tonight

Don't come morning, don't come light

They may be lies but say that we'll be alright

Say that we're gonna be alright

Tonight

I give. You take. Then you walked away.

I gave you my all, every ounce I had to give I gave and all you did was take. But no matter how much I gave, regardless that I had nothing left to give it was never enough. There was nothing in me left to give, sometimes you made it seem like if I had ripped out my still beating heart and placed it in your hands it wouldn't have been enough. I give, you take, and in the end you walked away.

I get that you were afraid to give, you were afraid to trust me with what you had to give but that was no excuse to just walk away without a single word to say. By the end of it, I had given you everything so when you walked away I had nothing left to make you stay.

So what gives you the right to show up at my door, what gives you the right to touch me. What makes you think I would ever want you back. You can fall to your feet, you can cry and make everyone think that I am without heart, but only you know that I don’t even have a heart to give anymore, it wasn’t enough back then and now it’s no longer my own to give.

No words. No ink.

We talk but its never like it used to be, its idle chatter based on the current affairs of opinions, our conversations are nowhere near as deep, as meaningful as they used to be. We could talk all day long and now it would mean nothing, we could talk all night long and it would not blow us away, because when it comes to you there are no words anymore. No words. I just don’t know what to say to you anymore. I don’t have anything left in me, no feelings, no emotions, nothing towards you. Our conversations are not even near deep as the conversations I have with my barber. I never thought it would ever be like this, but what can I say, I can’t even write about you anymore because it sounds nothing but cliched. 

In the months since we closed the book and set it ablaze, I let myself bleed and it all came gushing out like a severed wound, I bled the words I wish I had said, I bled all the things we dreamed, and they all gushed out in letters completely incomprehensible. And as I scoured over them with a fine toothed comb I formed words, which became sentences and paragraphs, entire novels and from that I gain perspective, understanding and most of all closure. In time I bled every ounce of blood I had, and that blood became ink to a pen that told my story, but now there is nothing left to be said, there are no words. No blood left to bleed, nothing to ink my pen. I question whether a story ends when the pen runs dry or if there is more to be said. Perhaps when a story is cut short as the pen runs dry it becomes time to venture out into the world and begin another adventure that results in as much ink as the last one did, from which another story may begin to be told, or one can continue from where he left off. In any case I’m out of ink. 

Past.

The past walks behind us like a shadow, in certain light this shadow that barks at our heels becoming more prominent, its presence becoming ever more known. Haunting and taunting at our feet, it is always there, and I think it is in our biology to look back, making sure that we do not become prey to the past that stalks us. Sometimes we run from it, but we always make sure that the past stays behind us, we make sure, or rather we try our hardest to make sure it never catches up with us.

Some of us grow to truly fear our past, because we left things unresolved. But I think the past can only be the past if we leave it there, behind us. In essence I think the past is like a stray dog, if you look back at it enough times it will start to follow you, eventually it will come to walk beside you and that past you thought you left behind can easily become your present, simply because you spent too long looking back, attracting the attention of what once was to come haunting back at you.

Maybe the past isn’t always so scary, so haunting, maybe looking back reminds you of an old friend once lost, and in doing so it provokes you to find that which you once lost. But I find it funny how we pretend that we had left the past behind, and are surprised when it creeps back on us, the thing is some of us never truly leave things behind. We keep looking back, we keep regretting what was, and in doing so we leave a window open to let the past back in. When you let go, when you stop fearing, stop looking back and regretting, that is when the past truly becomes the past and stays there. But you check back on it every once in a while, to make sure its still there, because after all the past is what defines your future, because the past was once your future.