The beat of the drum hits me in the stomach causing a rush of adrenaline in my blood.
A small tap on the symbol is as potent as an unexpected kiss on the cheek,
it lingers on secretly and silently, somewhere deep in the back of my mind,
probably much longer than it ever should.
The strum of the bass gives me something to concentrate on, like a heartbeat.
It is what I rely on for emotion, positive or negative, fast or slow.
Those four strings are all I will ever have to depend on,
a dull echo in my head that will remind me that I once cared,
I paid attention to something around me once, and I let it soak in.
My thoughts are disturbed as someone picks the strings of the acoustic.
It is beautiful and complex, something almost too perfect,
because even a great memory will never replicate it exactly.
The beat is there, the symbol lingers on, the strum of a simple tune,
it is almost like someone once cared enough about my life to make it more than it is.
You begin to speak, singing every word with meaning,
every verse is poetic, but you let it out so easily.
You play the same song every week,
and I wish I could just repeat your lyrics…
“I love you in the strangest way.”