My fingers brush the keys as I enter into some sort of reverie. It must be ‘flow’. The lyrics spring to mind and drip like honey, the rhymes coincidental, the cadences perfected. The melody forms and unforms, clenches and releases, wispy and translucent before finally settling into a shape with grooves and colour. It interlocks with the resonating chords and pedaled notes the way puzzle pieces nuzzle against each other. I tumble into the next chord progression and like ink in water the sound moves. I am drifting in a current and nothing else matters besides what I’m doing. On the page in front of me are scribbles that completely disregard the horizontal writing lines and are letters that only I can read and understand.

I feel so content and at peace when I compose songs, for it grants me momentary relief from everything else. It is my distraction. I sit at the piano and hours dissipate. I missed dinner today because I was playing and I didn’t mind. I was in the midst of writing my third song. And now I feel calm. Rested. Satisfied. And eager for the next session.


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