“Where words fail, music speaks.”
― Hans Christian Andersen
Words fail love miserably. How do you explain that feeling of infatuation that possesses your every thought? Butterflies. Cloud nine. You can say it. Another person might know what you mean, but they won’t really feel it until it is put to music. The crescendo. The harmony. It reaches the heart. The words have more meaning.
How, then, do you explain the waning of love? It is only of our dearest friends we ask for guidance, perhaps not even then. There is something of shame in it. Failure. Lack of effort. Music holds the key to connecting to one’s feelings. Dissonant chords. Syncopated rhythm. It permits us to cry.
Anger we feel from broken love is often not proper to convey, out of respect to family or mutual friends. We bottle it up until it uncorks or breaks us apart. Music is an outlet. It welcomes our rage. Music can scream. Or writhe. Or blame when we don’t allow ourselves to do it out loud.
I understand why there are so many songs about love.
Words fail love miserably.
Where words fail, music speaks.
Peace . . .
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