nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

Sad Music - ORIGINAL PROSE

There are words I listen to, music for these moments, which speak to my heart in ways only the candid and raw can know, in ways only the chosen could ever understand; yet they speak to the masses, speak for universal truths and broken hearts lying in undead bodies all around us, for we all walk the streets aimlessly, searching for things we know not what, for moments to spark heart beats and allow us to think once more, think for ourselves. And as I, too, walk these streets, listening to the music meant for broken spirits and minds like bottomless wells, I recall earlier memories, moments where I felt the future advance slowly but surely, waiting for the shoe to drop as my childhood slipped through my mind like sand, as time ran away with moments of bliss, of innocence, lacking in grief and misery, as few as they had been. A soundtrack played then, as I wrote of my fears and screamed my anger, my hatred, my worries into the void, into a digital pit to be lost forever, pushed down beneath anonymous faces and words, words, only words, pushed aside by new trends and more words, a running commentary for a growing mind, always on the run. A soundtrack played now, my worries morphing into a new, yet strangely similar beast, for I can sense the coming wave, the tide shift as I grow older and my contemporaries are lost to illness, disease, death and the long march as work and finances weigh them down. A soundtrack will play again, each decade as it passes me by, as it leads me a step closer to my doom. I will learn what everyone learns, at one point or another along their journey, as they had shrugged off these concerns, as I did once or twice, until the train hits mercilessly, without warning, as trains do: the day before thirty is the worst day of your life, until the day after thirty arrives, as the day I turned eighteen felt like a disappointment and the world grew darker with each year. I still remember when I were thirteen, and it only felt like yesterday, maybe its better that I can only remember the golden days and only recall a vague sense of dread as I waited for adulthood to come, as I remained under my parents' roof and hated how angry they seemed. I understand now it is a rite of passage, but still can only look at them through child eyes, through the mind of pain and resentment, as all children do. I will never have children, and I hope I look back on these days and remember only how much harder it would be to walk this path with added burdens on my broken heart.