Writing Exercise
I like this song. It is difficult to explain why. Since it was introduced to me, I have followed it along its winding melodies and over the drum rolls and attempted to see that far destination where all of its efforts lead. I have enjoyed many songs. It has become necessary for me since I was young to listen constantly, as if silence were blindness and as if, instead of my own strength, I have drawn upon the pulsations inherent in music.
I spend my nights beside a tiny lamp, typing words slowly, pondering clauses as I listen to a melancholic song. Other nights I have spent for idle amusements meant to distract me from the inevitability of living. Every night, however, is spent alone and beholden to the desire to live that keeps me awake. And I sit here, living under this song as if it were the clean rain whose soft coldness is too brief.
I spend my nights beside a tiny lamp, typing words slowly, pondering clauses as I listen to a melancholic song. Other nights I have spent for idle amusements meant to distract me from the inevitability of living. Every night, however, is spent alone and beholden to the desire to live that keeps me awake. And I sit here, living under this song as if it were the clean rain whose soft coldness is too brief.