I like to write with music playing. It makes me feel like I’m escaping into this existential world of emotion and thought. The unspoken ideas, those that are not yet words, simply ideas, dance around in my head as I debate whether to let them be, dancing in their beauty, in their unformed state, or categorize them into expressions, words, paragraphs, stories.
I keep these ideas safe by not speaking them. They are my secrets. I do not want to fail in my attempt to express them completely, so I don’t express them at all. Instead, I let them dance in my mind to the music I’m absorbing.
Sometimes even speaking them is too dry, too flat. I’m learning, perhaps, lyrical poetry is the only way to express these colorful, rich, dimensional ideas. I’m thinking this especially now, as I sing along to the music.
Maybe it’s because I can feel it. I not only read it with my eyes, but hear it with my ears, comprehend it with my mind and understand it with my heart. The lyrics are puzzles that coax my curiosity to gain further understanding. And sometimes, lyrics can remain secrets. They don’t require explanation, just enjoyment.
“Second best, oh, second best
I can learn to live with this
Plus, I really need a rest
After all, what’s wrong with second best”