I decided to do something different this week. This story was originally written for my high school's Creative Writing Club but I decided I wanted to share it again. This is single-handedly one of my favorite things I have written and I hope everyone loves it as much as I do.
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I am not a melodic person. My words and actions are not sweet and soft. I live my life in sporadic rhythmic patterns that shift and change as the sun sets and rises every day. My thoughts are at a forte while my words are nothing more than a mezzo piano.
The world around me is made up of music. There is the chatter of people, which when quiet and calm sound nothing more than a smooth jazz, but sometimes when the chaos begins to start it turns into a heavy metal garage band during the beginning of their career when their hearts are elated and they can conquer the world.
The music of the world around me inspired me and ruined me. It was familiar and soothing to enjoy. That was until I heard it. The faint kick of a drum. At first, it was subtle and was disregarded as a new beat in the world but sometimes it became deafening. It would create a bubble of noise surrounding me and slowly pick up speed until I would be drowning by a concept that I love. See, the bass drum is my mind, my heart and all the blood running through my veins. It is me. I am the out of step, out of time, out of place beat that the world is aware of, but not affected by.
The drum had always there and at first, I feared it. How can something so untuned and declared fit into the harmonies of the world? How could I, someone so unnoticed and barely there, fit into a sound much greater than I believed I ever was? I was scared and so my love of music stopped and when it stopped the world went silent. I no longer found peace in the hum of the cars, the pouring rain, or even my own heartbeat. For the first time in my life I was in sync with the world. But tell me, what is a song without a beat? Even if the words are wrong and that drum is far too loud, what would it be without it?
Months went by, absent of even the softest melody, before the music returned to me. We were sitting there, a friend and I, staring at a blank T.V. There were no words being spoken between us but I could feel her mind racing a mile a minute while mine sat dormant. She then opened her mind for me to see and began to talk about the things she loves and I watched as an entire orchestra fell from her mouth, filling up the empty space and surround us. It was at this moment I heard the birds outside start singing like flutes, the car horns became trumpets and that is when I learned that the universe is was never singing together. I began to understand at this moment why my music had faded. I had the lost the part of my heart that cared for what I create and what I am.
I learned that every individual person is their own style and their own tune because it is the deepest part of our existence that creates the music hiding inside of us. I learned that you should never fear what you are or who you are, and I, I was no longer afraid.
I am not a melodic person. My words and actions are not sweet and soft. I live my life in sporadic rhythmic patterns that shift and change as the sun sets and rises everyday. My thoughts are at a forte while my words are screaming louder than ever.