Today's moving day... and lately it's been nightmare after nightmare. Barely sleeping and not at all happy, I tend to attach and almost imprison myself to the blurry memories of old. Memories that soon will entirely vanish, I think... for there's no more space in this life that I have to store them or the guts to bear them.
It's moving day but it's also an anniversary. A dream called "Music" once became my entire life, burning so deeply and hot that it made lava run through my veins. Had to juggle too many things at the same time to hide myself from a dangerous world or become dangerous... and did it all the same.
At this point, the world has finally forgotten me whole but the many scars and so little inspiration I left behind may not be healed but at least surpassed with the life that went on and on and on. Not for me and yes, at the same time.
The day that I cherished the most was both the dream and the start of the end. That's my anniversary. The highest of highs and the unraveling of so many changes that changed it all. Bone deep. And I remember it all: the smiles, the faces, the music flowing in the air with all the nutrients to keep you alive for a thousand years; the gasp, and the crying. A discourse that many never understood from me and tried to love against the odds, and the unfathomable passion to create and destroy, all the same.
Ten years have passed and for the first time in the last six of them, I dare to speak, to feel and think about it again. Not enough fuel in my heart would bring me to a time before the time, to the place I was there before it all happened again: the crowd, the bumping heart, the claps, the love... there's not enough fuel in my heart, anyway. And then, I remembered (ironically) the first and last thing. The first piece I ever learned, all those 20-something years ago... and the last thing I can still play without a score. "Linda (vals)". I know at least 3 people who will grunt but for all the hate the world used to hate me, none will ever surpass a thousand times more than I hated myself for every one of those.
I've lived 37 of your years on this planet someone so creatively called "Earth", yet for me, each day was a lifetime to survive. Now I lived and died every day in my mind and heart for millennia, endured the impossible, and was reborn again in the morning, sometimes. Other times I ended up dead for longer and still went out. None of the times my wish to die entirely was granted. And here I "am".
I don't know if I was able to call myself a musician before but I know I no longer am. If the future holds for me that word again, as well as many others that I kept in the deepest parts of my very essence, I don't know. I can only remember the waltz. The impossible was my every day and I seemed to make it happen with so many to thank for. And in the end, there's only a waltz to play and pray for that never leaves me, with my dearest, longest, and only companion, the one that I attached myself to when life happened, and loved me back when I never deserved it, my guitar.
¡Feliz Día del Músico!
