Rain

I love the rain.

The darkness around me. The muffled shades of grey etched in the horizon like a pensive impressionist painting. I walk on and I feel the breeze on my face, touching me and reminding me that I am still alive. I sing with all abandon. I see someone coming and I mouth the words before launching into another crescendo after a safe distance away. sometimes they hear it but i dont care. it's my song now. the song of youth and energy. something you dont have.

i am free because i can sing my song.

I am listening to Rachmaninov Preludes now - another of my favourite composers. Music of which I can never play or compose. That is perhaps the pity and regret. The palette of colors enter me and become brainwaves strumming the drum that is my ear. the sensuous warm tones of the piano provide warmth in this chilly night.

It is yet another night alone. but i am not lonely, because i have my music.

I decide i shall sleep early tonight. I am on the bed typing this. I shall sleep so I can plough through some legal history and theoretical discussions in PREMPTION tml. It will be thursday. I have no plans for tml but to read.

Music is the embodiment of ephemerality because try as we may, we cannot grasp onto the fleeting passions of the moment - the colors, the contours, the emotional highs and lows; the warmth or the cold. That is perhaps the beauty of music and the truth which it reveals to us. Art does reveal certain truths about the world, but it is up to each one of us to find out what it is, to us.

Who said music is useless?