The Musical Mr. M
The music moved me, music that I was creating with my own breath and hands. It was the most real form of magic I’d ever discovered. I learned in those early days what incredible emotion could be found in music. To a young writer, music became a battery in which I could charge inspiration and draw energy.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?