I've been thinking about the music I loved when I was a kid. Why it still has the most powerful hold on me. Why the deep sense of melancholy haunts even the sunniest of songs. I think it's because the music was a window to a bright world - one which I wasn't sure I could even belong in. Those songs, for me, were like the piece of paper that the wind blows out of your hand; you reach out to grab it but swipe the air instead. You can always see the paper in front of you as every gust carries it further away; you remain as close as you ever were, but the distance between your fingertip and that paper always remains. In that small gap is the fluttering heartbeat that holds all of your childhood longing, hope and love. Yet it also holds the sigh of disappointment and unfulfilled dreams. The drift, the languorous pitter-patter of expectations dashed on the rocks of our lives realities.
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