My Reality - 1.1.2011

I often find it easy to meld into a world where music has color and pain is easily forgotten, let go in the color it produces the moment it is felt rather then bottled up inside of ones person and ignored. I used to be afraid of the strange effects synesthesia had over me. I used to worry that I actually was crazy. Fighting to ignore it as though it was a curse that needed to be forgotten or over powered before, God forbid, it over powered me. I cherish the moments in which I find that I can stop and savor each tone of color as it passes over me, for in the business of life they are often pushed to the background of my conscience so that I may focus on other things. I linger mournfully over the memories of moments in which I caused those colors to saturate the air around me, either by gently coaxing them from the ivory clad keys of the old piano that begged to be played or caressing each note with my voice until it shone with its most beautiful potential. For deep within the two dimensions of black ink on paper lays a whole other world if you will, laden with emotions so heavy and powerful that the soul almost can not bare them. This is the place my spirit longs to escape to, the sweet green pasture of rest from this life of tortures. It is here that I find peace and remember life's sorrows no more. It is there, and only there, that I can dare to look at my soul and not mourn for something different. It is there that I can dare to relive memories of pain and sadness and finally feel closure. In this place I can relive moments of happiness and joy and not feel as though I have cheapened them in the remembrance. It is there that I find the courage to speak the words that simple will not form on my tongue. I would not change what was done, only how. I would not forfeit the moments spent, only prolong them. I would not spend so much time wishing over what I didn't know, but know now. I would not live in timid shadows if only I knew how to make this place my reality. For now, and always.