I miss my guitar. And I know this because when I listen to music, I’ll see it splitting, see the melodies and harmonies fracturing into individual segments, watch the notes to see where they go, one step higher, one octave lower. I’m following each instrument like a different train of thought and then feeling them all culminate and dance with each other.
When I’m playing by ear, it’s the same process: I’m closing my eyes and opening my ears and sensing where these notes are going. And then I play and play until it feels right. I could curl up in other’s musicality, content myself with just listening, but I’m like a cat watching a ball of yarn ball of music; eventually I’ll want to tug at it and unravel it, the music. When I listen to music, it is like watching it unravel. And then I want to put it all together again.
I rewind in multiples of 3 6 5, count on my fingers when it’s orangey hot outside. I’m blinded at 8, sweaty-drowning at 4, despairing at 2, and counting down to 1 (12, 11, 10–)
Think Lua, Bright Eyes, cramped attics, friendship and sleepovers. How what’s ‘so simple in the moonlight/by the morning never is’. And today when I wake up it feels like hot winter in the middle of December.
Early morning ‘s forgetting when all I can do is remember.
A man darts out in rainbow swim trunks and grabs his mail. The moon’s a slice of flan in the sky. I slouch and The Weeknd mumble-hums about an after party.
I’ve never listened to Wanderlust in full but every time time the song pops up, I hear: “there’s a song by The Weeknd called Wanderlust.” And then I think back to drawing fingerprints in green sharpie and doodling Leo Tolstoy in the margins and how the seasons had never looked so vibrant.