(An unused portion from my upcoming novel, 40)
This is what I know.
Music is my refuge, my promise, my relief. The songs that mean the most are my bandages, the chords my treasures, the lyrics my wisdom.
I understand what Matthew told me.
I can’t go back and change the fact. The fact that moving around, the one thing that remained was music. Moving from past to present, music remained my harbor in the tempest.
When the voices questioned, music completed it. Anger? Hit side one track two. Fear? Side two track four. Lust. Love. Anxiety. Celebration.
There is a song, a band, a genre to fit them all.
My genre is melancholy, my chords in the minor key.
Labels: 40, From The Cutting Floor