Thoughts on A Song

I find myself listening to the same album, same song, on a loop lately. It has become the soundtrack of these secluded days. At times, softly in the background, barely more than a whisper. At others, it blasts from the speakers. I plug it into my ears as I wander through the city, from one destination to another. Pointless wandering meant to do nothing more than to keep my feet on this frozen ground, force me into the world of others. Proof of my existence. I sing, hum, whistle, and absently sway along. It only drives me further into my head, further away. The more it plays the more invisible I become, hidden behind the walls of my thoughts. I can’t decide which is more deafening: the music or my thoughts. They are warring.

I am thrown back and forth in time by the melody. Lines, small snippets, call out to me, stop me in the middle of whatever I’m doing—drinking, reading, staring off into space. I am twenty-three again. I have just left everything behind, tore off down the highway. Everything I yearn for is at its end. I am in a constant state of breathlessness, brought on by excitement, thrill, anticipation, fear, and outright panic. I am on the precipice. Of what I don’t quite know. Something. I feel it in every pore, every inch of my skin crawls with it. It’s big. I am sure of it. This is my redefining moment, the moment that will change it all. I see my path unfolding at my feet. At first glance, it is as straight as an arrow. And as I take my first step, it curves wildly in all directions, sharp curves and bottomless drops, spirals and death rolls. I lose my footing. I get up. I trek on. And always, these lyrics accompany me on my journey.

I am thrust back to the present. I am once again on the ledge to the unknown, my past and present paralleling. I suppose this is the obsession with the music, the same calling, same yearning for answers and solid ground. If I could only gather the courage to jump, I would be saved. I finger the rope attached to my ankles. It is slack now but will pull taut with the freefall. It will not let me hit the ground. The net will appear if only I jump. Or so I tell myself. I try to resurrect the girl of five years past; I summon her with all my might. Melody lulls her back to me. I try to feel her pulse in my veins. I push play hoping that like a serpent, she will uncoil and rise up. I crank the volume trying to drown the doubting voice.

Am I like my ever-reoccurring soundtrack, doom to repeat itself endlessly until the batteries run out? I overlay the transparencies of time. I take solace in the slight differences, trying to look past the terror of the similarities.