I Speak in Music.

If I’m going to tell you about myself, there’s gonna be a track somewhere. Some chaotic rock interlude, or sappy, sweet symphony. Depends on how I’m feeling, and which album withstood the test of time. 

I’ve blended rhythms to melody and burned them to disks in my memory, yet somehow they get intertwined while I talk about the depths of me.

I’m not surprised that I can’t find the words, but I’ll land on the songs. Ballads that I haven't heard in God knows how long. This native tongue clinging to my every breath.

You’ll remember me by the last lyric I said.

It’s such a blissful way to exist. Binding bridges with melodies like this. Mixtapes rolling in the boombox, screaming out the tales of all my firsts.

Singing for me when I can’t find the words. 

I need whoever's watching to understand me this time. You see, I only speak in flat notes and stunning rhymes. I am made of the drumbeat of my heart.

 My records and I, we’re never far apart.

Right in between the bridge, where the hook gets repeated again and again. That is how I can recall the last thing you said. Bassline – you’re leaving. First verse bleating as your keys hit the floor. Heartbreak on the refrain, watching as you walk out the door.

Do you see? It’s living in all of us. We sing about the very things we love. It’s how we recollect, it’s how we exist. There is no better native tongue than speaking like this.

I hope you can hear me, maybe try to understand. This stereo outside your window is my safest place to land. It’s how I’m heard. It’s how I speak without using any words.

 And when I’m missing something, my nostalgia is just a click away. A playlist recounting all of my favorite days. Track one, sun up, track three, the sun retreats. By track ten, we’re chasing midnight under the trees.

This is how I speak.

Whether the party’s over, or the celebration’s just begun, this is the way that I count down one.

More than any words can ever say.

If I feel it, I will be pressing play.