Music and movement

The music inside you has died.

You used to hear it with each step you took, and each time you exhaled, its rhythm keeping time with your heart beat. It rang like church bells on sunny days, and rumbled along mournfully when it rained. It was always there, ringing in the changes, keeping pace with your life as you danced and stumbled through your years.

And, one day, you notice that the music has stopped, and you cannot remember when last you have heard it playing.

In its place there is a silence, and within the silence, there is a vast emptiness, an infinite expanse of nothing. Where your smile never reaches your eyes, and words of sympathy are felt only upon your lips. You move without real purpose, only to shuffle from one necessary task to the next. Without your music, your heart knows only how to pump blood, for survival, but not how to keep you alive. There is no light in the love that you carry, only weight.

You keep moving, because within the movement, there is sound. And the sound that accompanies each footstep begins to carry its own beat, and there is a trace of a melody, if you listen carefully. One step, and then another, while your heart keeps up its tempo, and the blood that moves through you begins to warm you.

It is a song that you know well, but you will never know its name, or recall all of the words once it fades away. For now, it belongs to you.