I miss music.

I miss music in a way I cannot explain to people who do not appreciate it, to people who do not actually play an instrument.  I miss sitting down on the porch with my guitar or bass, legs curled under me, cigarette hanging from my mouth, drink at my side.  Not that I miss smoking.. But I miss music.  I miss letting all my frustrations, anger, sadness, pain, misery, and any other negative emotion go while I strummed, sang.. or even when I played a piano.  I miss letting the feeling of the vibration of the strings enhance my happiness and joy.  I miss feeling goosebumps raise on my arms as I play something that resonates my soul.

I miss music.

I miss feeling the keys depress under my fingers.  I miss the feel of the strings as they vibrate and pop.  I miss feeling my heart beating faster and faster, as I get closer to the breakdowns.

I fucking miss music.

I even miss my fingers hurting after I’ve played too long. I miss looking up to realize a few hours have passed, stretching slowly to pop my back, and rolling my head around to loosen my neck.  I miss rubbing the cramps out of arthritis-laden hands and smiling, because the pain was worth the time I got to play.  I miss holding my bass.  I miss taking a sip of whatever I was drinking after I don’t know how much time, letting it cool my parched throat, because I forgot where I was for a long while, while I played.  I miss closing my eyes and lowering my head as I played the sounds over and over in my head, testing different notes to see what I liked best, before beginning to play again.  I miss the countless hours I “lost” while playing.

I miss music!

I miss seeing my daughter sit next to me, sometimes for hours, mesmerized by whatever I played.  I miss hearing her hum along as she got the rhythm and beat, I miss hearing her make up songs to whatever I played.  I miss seeding her eyes light up as I pulled out one of my guitars and began tuning it.  I miss her incessant questions about why I did this or that, and how.  I miss seeing her eyes light up as I started to play.

I miss music.

I miss the absolute release.  I miss how exhausted I would be after playing out my emotions.  I miss dragging myself to bed at whatever hour because I gave music all my hurt and I had nothing left.  I miss walking back inside with a flounce because I let go of all the hurt and added back to my joy.

I miss playing.

I miss my bass.

I miss being able to play for hours instead of a few minutes before I’m crying form pain, because of a severely damaged wrist.

I miss the release.

I fucking miss music.  And listening is never the same.