When

When beautiful music enters your ears, it’s something majestical. It entices and invites you to indulge in the voluptuous treble and bass. After a while you find yourself feeling some type of way. You’re not sure what it is. Maybe, just maybe it’s happiness. Yes; happiness. The piano fills your lungs with a feeling so vehement that it feels like an orgasm to the soul. The quote I’ve found to be in the most sooth, and the most meaningful to me, is by a lost cause by the name of The Black Eyed Peas. “Music is my medicine,” yes. Yes it is. It heals even the deepest of wounds. It heals the wounds that antibiotics and stitches can’t fix. Even the ones that neither surgery, nor chemotherapy, can fix. Those wounds that only you know about are slightly healed when that one song that was lost in your playlist starts playing. Then nostalgia infuses in you while the sweet melody plays away. Soothing your soul with the serenity of every immaculate beat. A rush of good and/or bad memories rush in like water following a broken dam. Your head starts to sway and your frown turns upside down. Your head starts bobbing and your fingers start snapping. Slowly, you catch yourself singing along but it’s okay. It feels good. It’s about time that things start get better. Twirl around and prance and enjoy life for the lovely minutes that the song lasts. Why stop there? Replay the song. Overdose on it. Find another drug and overdose on the ecstatic tunes of the next drug. Find those long-lost songs that you are now realizing that you’ve missed. When the ecstasy ends and you’re back to the pain and agony of the real world, remember. Remember the old times, when things were good. When your life was solved. Now make new memories, positive ones. 

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