acoustic black

Again, the world had worn me thin. I nodded profusely in and out of an apathetic consciousness in my window seat on the front carriage. My head resting on my reasonably unstable hand that often fell off the slanted ledge that rose for my temporal support. But this time it was different.

Because I heard something that resonated and vibrated through my lonely drowsiness. A note. A soft, unsure note from a plucked string somewhere within my hearing radius. And it sang to me over the rickety of the train as it bounced over galvanized tracks and over that man's throbbingly loud headphones. Sleep fell quickly from me, as did the desire to loose consciousness. Let me find it. My awareness peeked as a meerkat's might, and I eagerly scanned my surroundings, longing to identify whoever woke me. I found him quickly; and rose from my seat to find a standing closer to him.

So I stood and he played; softly, restlessly, plunking notes that spoke to me of him. I couldn't see his face the entire time. He played as he watched the whirling scenery race pass us as the train approached destination. His mangy hair was long, dyed black and shaved in a few places. His 2 inch black platform lace up shoes gave more to the height of him. My eyes, however, were mostly drawn to where the music woke me, his black nail polished fingers darting across frets freeing the music that made him.

I felt I was understood,
even if he never looked at me.

The train lurched to a halt and we all lined up at the door. I planned to get outside and then tap him on the shoulder and whisper a heart-felt thank you. But as the current of people flowed towards the ticket gates urgent to return home, he made a sudden u-turn and walked the other way onto the platform again, and I was pushed contrary to him. I walked a little way further, because home was also on my mind, but overrode it and turned back to find him.

Alas, he was nowhere to be found. I scanned each carriage as I walked the length of the train, pass the smoke and conversation of the ticket inspectors and back. I had just been inspired, and usually I like to appreciate them who inspire me.

It seems lately, that my cds have been laying forlorn on my bedroom floor, sprawled and untouched save the occasional guilt trip to listen to them. I want, now, to hear people. Because when people play music, when they are courageous enough to express themselves in public without reason, they give me permission to hear their hearts. Where none is done for personal gain or recognition or routine, but out of their willingness to give a little hope (even if just for themselves).

I love to see the music that makes you. It intrigues me, calls me, grabs me to see (or try to) your perspective.

Thank you, friend, because you played a tune familiar to me in heart and you made me want to cry. It seems your quite the musician! I hope, dearly, dearly to see you again!
Please never stop playing.