Sounds. Melodies and rhythms are the ones that accompany me on my walk. What for some is chaos, for me is a symphony full of complexities. Voices, horns, shouts, footsteps, creaking, grinding. All of them belong to a single piece that unfolds under the direction of an imaginary baton and an inattentive audience.
Some have a frenetic pace framed in a scenario of storms and races to seek refuge. Others are as sublime as the silence in an empty room where, once your ears adjust, you can hear the drumming of your own heart and the roar of your thoughts.
There are voices that resemble the thunder of the trumpet announcing misfortune; others are the calm of the sea and the breeze taking notes of everything that crosses its path.
Typing this same note brings the frenzy of a novice musician trying to make the most of the instrument to be played.
The street at midnight goes with slower tempos that cradles us and from time to time we learn of the violence of the city when the melody is interrupted by a scream or a gunshot.
The rubbing of a hand against the sheets, the rocking of the bed when making love and the moaning on the pillows make the bed a piano with wet keys.
Rsnorts and stumbles are captured by the keen ear, the small details of a percussionist that arouses suspicion make your own home an unknown place despite the fact that the auditorium belongs to you.
The dripping faucet, in the distance a barking dog, the sirens of the police or an ambulance, the lights through the window; it is a concert that unfolds without pause while you know that you are the only silent spectator, sitting on the floor with a cigarette and the nostalgia for times that never were.
How much empty space, how many unoccupied seats, many unsold tickets, how many present alone and how many absent together. A drink before bed to mitigate loneliness and a smile to not cry alone.
The sound accompanies you from the womb, then when it comes out of your mother with the first spanking and immediately your own crying. An unforgiving world with a constant that we always overlook, your own soundtrack that accompanies you in your dramas and comedies, your romances and tragedies.
The joys, achievements, broken hearts and losses we accompany with music. An I love you is the victory sung by a choir of white voices and an I hate you is the declaration of war issued by the drummer who goes to the front of the battle.
The music accompanies me today, that I die a little more. Music will accompany me to my grave because it has been my faithful companion, my inseparable friend, my lover full of passion and my comfort in adversity.
J.D.R. 10/01/12