In Time//Elavan

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Music is said to be the best way to communicate. "When words fail, music speaks," the poets say. If it were to be taken literally, it is nothing but a pattern, a string of notes. Yet it has such a resplendent effect on the human being's body and mind. It is like magic through your ears that swirls around in your brain and spreads out through your body in beams of pleasure and relaxation. 

There have been recent studies on music involving its positive effects on mental health, mental disorders especially. Hospitals have been using them to help relieve a patient's pain and even ease confusion and anxiety. 

It was interesting to Avan how a simple arrangement of sounds could have such delightful impacts on a species as intelligent and advanced as the human being. Humans and music seemed to be stuck in a never-ending waltz, exploring the expanse of the universe until not an inch of it would be left silent. Every note tickled their way into people's hearts and took reign over their emotions even if there were no words involved. 

With all the music writing he has done, Avan has always had trouble with one thing-- time signature. It led him to have troubles with tempo as well. He's been saving up to formally study music theory or music therapy, whichever as long as it involved music, but if he was already having trouble with something as fundamental as time signature, what would he be doing at a music school? 

If he had wonderful control over melody, he barely had a grip on time. It didn't even have to concern music. Avan just always seemed to be too late or too early for everything. No matter how he tried, the arms of time were too sharp for him to battle and he would always fail. It was his worst flaw. 

E B A A

Avan strummed the same pattern again and again on his brown, acoustic guitar, trying to come up with the right tempo. He tried 200 BPM, 100 BPM and everything in between, but noting seemed right to his ears. He's been doing this for the past three hours in the tightness of his studio-type apartment. 

Sighing loudly, he takes the leather strap of the guitar off his shoulders and places it at the side of his bed on its stand. He then plops down on the soft mattress on his bed frame and grunts into his pillow. 

Music was his outlet but it was also the biggest source of his stress. Paradoxical he knew, but it made sense to him  somehow because even if he was making music to express whatever blunt emotion he was feeling, he wanted it to be nothing short of perfect. Avan wanted to make beauty grow in the midst of emotional havoc. 

"Avan, stop being so stupid," he groans, sitting up and running his fingers through his long locks which reminded him that he really ought to cut off a few inches of his hair soon. 

His chocolate eyes swept through the entirety of the cramp space he called home. There were clothes scattered on the floor which really needed to be tossed into a washing machine sooner than later. His drawers were open and the small sink and counter which was his sorry excuse for a kitchen was piled with unwashed dishes. It was untidy and he knew if anyone would ever walk into his apartment, they'd want to walk out the second they saw what a state it was in. 

"You're better than this. Come on," he breathed, standing up to start cleaning. 

There would be no trace of dishonesty if Avan were to say that his life is a disarray. The state of his apartment reflected the state of his life. He didn't have a stable job other than creating jingles for commercials and occasional gigs at random bars and restaurants. He didn't have a romantic enough voice to sing at weddings and neither was it good enough for jazzy, fancy fine dining restaurants. 

It was disappointing to know that he was once so well-organized. He had a pretty well-established routine: on Mondays to Fridays, he would have his academics to worry about as well as an array of extracurricular sports to keep him active; and on the weekends, he would play his music to keep him sane and play with his little blue-eyed girl friend until the sun came down and she would have to frolic back into her home. 

 As a young child, he was full of potential and had the faith of everyone to lift him up closer to the height of his success. But what they thought was lifting him up was only weighing him down with all the pressure and the expectations. So, music became his refuge. It was the only thing that his parents, or his dad rather, didn't care much about. He could play anything from Bach to Radiohead and they wouldn't care because they didn't think he would actually make a career out of it. 

Picking up another smelly wife beater and tossing it into the hamper, Avan wishes he could go back to being ten years old when he was allowed to tickle the strings of his guitar without having to feel like he had to impress anyone. He wanted to sing off-key and still be able to see the gleam of joy and appreciation reflecting on a pair of bright, blue eyes as dark brown curls bounced against pail white skin. But he is 22 years old now. Ten-year-old Avan was a thing of the past and he had to deal with the choices he's made and to battle against the cruel hands of time that threatened to take away his youth along with the possibility of his success. 

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alright, new book yay! let's see if this one will actually make sense and not make me want to plummet back into my insecure, self-hating 10-15 year old self. 

and yes, I know that music theory and music therapy are two different things. Don't come at me.

Question: what was the pettiest thing you got angry at someone for?

I asked for a hug goodbye because it was the last night of rehearsals and the next night would be opening night. He said no and I threatened him that I would never talk to him again. He told me that he didn't care and that would be swell. I didn't speak to him until he bade me break a leg before my solo LMAOOO

Hope you enjoyed this! Don't be afraid to comment down your thoughts. Lots of love! Be kind, y'all!