With my headphones on I listening closely to the beat of the music and my mind starts to wonder. Like musical notes on a page I imagine the words as a picture. With details and colorful accents. With faces that are showing joy and sadness.
I hear the pain in this song, I hear the anger in this song, and I even think I can hear the hope of what could have been in this song. But what I don’t hear in this song is you.
Is that the persona I hear on top of the down beat that’s blasting through my ears? Is that the frustration of what didn’t happen the way you wanted it to happen on that particular day? Is that the wasted chance you had the chance to take that you didn’t take? Because if it is then I can hear that. I can hear the front that you put up for the world to see. I can hear the alias that you have made for yourself to draw in a fan club of people who don’t really want to know you. But they enjoy the ideal of what you represent. That I can hear, I can hear what you want me to hear, those words that made you express that anger and that sadness. But I don’t hear you.
Not the love you gave, not guilt you feel for the role you played, not the feeling you got when your happiness was at an all time high. I defiantly don’t hear the love. That obvious love that you must of had that brought to that pain that you obviously feel. I’m not a fan of your music. I’ve never listened to more than the today’s hits of your chart toppers before today. I haven’t followed your career or wished for a picture to show my friends of the persona you play for the world to see. Before today I had no ideal of all you have accomplished in the years of you playing this role that you play for the world to see.
Before today I didn’t want to know you, to hear you, to see you.
By C L Cunningham