I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps. - The Beatles
Not tears -
a tightening,
like something inside me
recognizing its own name
spoken out loud.
Prince's solo began
and I felt it in my shoulders,
the way they dropped,
as if I’d been carrying
more than I admitted.
The sound didn’t rush.
It stayed.
It asked me to stay.
I thought about the people I loved
and never learned how to keep.
How I practiced silence
until it felt like maturity.
Each note bent slowly,
as if it knew where I stored
what I refused to touch.
I remember thinking:
this is what it feels like
to let something hurt
without calling it damage.
My chest ached,
but not in a way I wanted fixed.
I wanted to remain open,
wanted proof that I still could.
When the guitar rose,
I felt myself rise with it -
not toward joy,
but toward honesty.
Toward the fact that feeling deeply
isn’t weakness,
it’s evidence.
After it ended,
nothing dramatic happened.
The room was still a room.
I was still myself.
But something had shifted -
like a bruise pressed gently
until it reminded me
I’m alive.
I walked away quieter,
but fuller.
Carrying the knowledge
that music can move through me
and leave me changed
without asking permission.
GBS jr
2004
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