I've been thinking a lot about words lately; the power they have in general and the power they hold for me, in particular. It's no secret that I love music. It's true that certain progressions of notes, a certain guitar chord, a certain rhythm, can soothe me or make me feel happy or sad (in a good way), and any number of other emotions. But what really move me are words.
It's not only music, but poetry and prose. When something resonates, I want to simultaneously collect it - take it in, hold it close, carry it with me - and also share it with others. I want others to recognize what I did; to feel the same way. Realizing that words don't do the same thing to everyone doesn't change the impulse. Some people horde material things. I horde words. It's less apparent, and I hope it's more constructive, but I don't know if it would make a difference either way. It is what it is. It is me.
For the past couple of days, this beautiful sad song has been in my head. It was written about depression, but like any good song or poem, it fits what you need it to fit. Right now, it's doing a good job of summing up pervasive sadness.
Sorrow found me when I was young
Sorrow waited, sorrow won
Sorrow they put me on the pill
It's in my honey, it's in my milk
Don't leave my hyper heart alone
on the water
Cover me in rag and bone sympathy
Cause I don't want to get over you
I don't want to get over you
Sorrow's my body on the waves
Sorrow's a girl inside my cave
I live in a city sorrow built
It's in my honey, it's in my milk
Don't leave my hyper heart alone
on the water
Cover me in rag and bone sympathy
Cause I don't want to get over you
I don't want to get over you
"Sorrow"
The National
