Every once in a while a feel a shiver up my spine, as if my body is aware that the feeling of a thousand pins and needles, just creeping in a rush up my back, will make me remember the thousands of intense emotions I’ve felt at so many different times. It’s like my subconscious knows that when I get goose bumps I automatically think of scary things that aren’t frightening because they’re creepy (spiders, for example,) but scare me to death because they involve emotion. No one I know would call me non-confrontational, but I know that sometimes I detach what is going on around me from my emotions, and that’s a scary feeling that is a bad coping mechanism. It’s what I use, though. I don’t know how to change it. I lock all of the feelings away in a deep chamber of my heart, and allow them to slowly trickle down into my soul if they’re dense enough to run through my mind first.
Then I overflow. I won’t let myself do it around anyone else. I have to cry my own tears of breaking my very motivations apart by myself and you can’t be a part of that. But that’s only a lie I use to keep myself halfway sane. Of course you could be a part of that. I’m just scared to let you in. Isn’t that the greatest paradox? Being scared to be alone yet being frightened as not to let anyone too far into your heart? Maybe that’s not all a bad thing. Those who I hold dear to me know that I mean it when I tell them I love them, and they know I’m serious when I tell them they’ve hurt me. I think it is best that way, after all, so we don’t dwell on any pain. Yes, it exists. Yes, there is no escaping from it. No, that does not mean am going to waste my life away composing great sob stories in my mind in the key of C-minor. No, get rid of the dissonance, or at least ignore it, and enjoy the melody. After you do that, then maybe you’ll be able to learn to appreciate the bumps along the way. Sometimes people cut you without meaning to, and that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Sometimes people leave you and you don’t have a chance to tell them you love them. The conversation you last had with your dearly departed will be scalded into your memory forever and you will wish that you had said “I love you” one last time. You will wish you took the opportunity to reach out your arms into their warm body and give the simplest gesture of an embrace. Sometimes people leave you and you watch them deteriorate. You have to part with someone lying there but they can’t be gone soon because you can see them and hear them and feel their hand in yours. But after all of that, you are left with melancholy and you must learn to live with the empty places where those very special people left. That’s what makes harmony, after all. Two things close together, but far enough apart that they don’t sound horrible when played together at the same part.
I think that life and death are a fourth apart. I think that is the hardest harmony to hear. A fourth is just far enough apart to where you have to really concentrate on it to understand where to sing next or you will be flat, and fall back onto the happy thirds of memory. No, you have to grow as a person, and develop more complex and beautiful sonatas all by yourself. Sure, they’ll include others, but even the most intricate chords have to rest in the background and let the melody work itself out. That’s how life is. We have to figure the real part we learn from for ourselves.