I really wanted to learn how to play the guitar or the piano when I was a kid. Unfortunately, I was too lazy to attend the music school that my father enrolled me in. I preferred playing with other kids outside the house rather than locking myself inside a room with an instrument. Sigh.
I don’t know how to play any instruments, I can’t sing either. I had a wonderful childhood, though. Does that even count?
Fine. So, I learned to focus myself into writing.
This sums up my desperation to music and its failure to collaborate with my soul.
I heard about his passion for music. How the notes danced as he strums that guitar.
I am curious about what he feels when he is in the rhythm. Does the lyrics influence him in any way? I can see how the demons control him every time he lays a finger on those strings.
Ah! Those magical strings that create a bewitching sound, drawing people to him, as he consumes their souls.
I am drifting too, with every beat. Ghosts of the past swirl around my head as the tune fills the room. They echo like a thousand memories bouncing from every word of my favorite song.
Oh, nostalgia! It’s strangling me, but I like it.
I noticed that when his soul gets possessed by the melody, he can be whoever he wants to be, he can say whatever he wants to say. And nobody, I mean, nobody can judge him.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lazy Learners.”0