you held me down in this starless city

i feel like i've created a world for myself out of my nostalgia. why is it that we can only experience things once? if you want to look at it the pessimistic way - memory is only a lie, a sad reminder that these times that made your heart swell are gone, and that every time you recall them they'll be more and more blurry, until eventually you can't remember at all?

it's enough to make anyone lay down and cry.

and yet -

why is it that a simple bass line can get inside my soul? how is it that when i hear a certain song, i'm immediately transported to my sixteen-ear-old self in the throes of selfish adolescence, or my eighteen-year-old self throwing snowflakes in the air, or my twenty-year-old self tripping on cobblestones on the streets? why is it that a simple line of poetry can make my heart clench? why is it that so many verses and lyrics and lines stop me cold and make me think that yes, yes, this is what i have been trying to say all along?

the truth is, art is what keeps us here. it is what makes this life, these shining un-relivable moments strung together like christmas lights, less of a line and more of a circle. i firmly believe that we would die withough art, without musicians, without writers. we are the lifeblood of the world. engineers and businesspeople keep the world running--but we, the artists, give it a reason to run at all. there is too much beauty in the world to ignore it.

this is what gives me hope. the artists of the world have given me something to relate to, something to hang on to, something to love. someday i hope to give that to someone else, another twenty-something year old who is grasping at straws to follow their dreams.