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silentrain Up and out - Subscribe
I don't think people realize how much they can mean to someone.

It's a strange thought to contemplate- that maybe someone you hardly know, who you simply small talk with really appreciates you paying them the time of day.
But sometimes just a smile can send someone up to the top from the bottom of the pile. Sure, some people would say it's love, but our definitions of love are all so different, all so unique that it can easily get confused with something that it's not.

To this I wont explain, for my words could get twisted into ways I never intended them to be. I'll simply leave that topic with that.


I sighed, closing my book and setting down my pen, only to have my fingers tap nervously at the desk, my eyes falling to my watch, willing time to go faster and get this eighth period pit of a place over with.
I needed that bell to ring so I could rush home and pick up the one thing I truly loved.
I grabbed my pen again along with my books, holding onto them as a definite beat of some made-up song played in my head- the chords and beat repeating in my ears and coming out my pen like someone had turned up the sound to a never-ending ocean wave.
The whole day had seemed to drag on as my head was already full of so much junk I knew there was only one way to clear it.

The bell sounding off key caused my song to be put on pause abruptly as I jumped out of my seat and raced out the door.
Today was not a day to pause.
Today was a day to power walk.

My black and white low-top converse shoes quickly lead me upstairs to my locker, as with a quick 'Excuse me', I was in the middle of two guys that were in the same grade as me- our lockers so close together that it didn't allow us much space.
I didn't mind it at all, however, the guys there were pretty cool, and actually knew their manners.

Huzzah for that my friend, Huzzah for that.

But I barely had enough time before my locker was closed and I was on my way down the stairs, once again music playing in my endless voided mind. In a flash, I was out the door and on the sidewalk- and then, a lot later than I wanted, walking into my house.

As if I was a robot, I let my messenger bag full of all the things I needed to get out of my head fall to the ground, not even bothering to take off my shoes as I raced down a small flight of stairs, and into the garage, taking a small turn, a close of the door, and another flight of stairs to my sanctuary.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs, my one hand resting on the railing.
I breathed in deeply, letting a satisfied smile cross my face before I slowly walked over to my little corner, three old friends greeting me.

I picked up the first one- a junior Yamaha acoustic, just small enough for my ten year old hands at the time I had started. But now sitting down with it, blowing some dust off it's hollow body, and playing a few blues scales with my fifteen year old fingers I couldn't help but chuckle as I missed a fret, only to have my F fall sharp.
The wood felt so worn and old, yet so familiar as I played some simply chords-D, G, C, D7- over and over, the warm acoustic sound forming from the old strings echoing off the walls of the room, reminding me of some old times I hadn't thought of in a long time.
I let the last chord ring, smiling sentimentally before placing back on it's stand, it seeming to be a lot happier than it had been moments before.

My hands picked up the next one- a dark blue and black Ibanez electric acoustic with a cream trim that I had gotten at thirteen. This one also had some dust, though not as much as the first, as it's full sized body seemed so strange in my hands after handling the other.
But my fingers soon began to explore the frets, a few jazz scales and chords singing out from it's shell, the strings purring with a feeling of pure comfort. The smooth neck allowed me to go up the frets easier than the other as I stopped at the seventh, playing a E7+9, though I was only half conscience of it at the time. My fingers were doing all the work, allowing my brain to kick back and enjoy the show.
My fingers stopped moving after it had let that last A minor chord play it's worth, causing my eyes to slowly open, a content sigh passing my lips as I set it carefully on it's stand, the strings calling me to come back, though I had to ignore it so I could pick up one last one.

A sly grin tugged at my lips when I did, it only tugging more as I placed the black Fender solid body electric's black and white strap over my shoulder. Flipping a switch, electricity flowed through a small, but powerful tube amp and up my fingertips, exploding into panatonic scales that ran up and down the rosewood neck faster than I had ever played them before.
Power chords followed, suddenly the ripping solo turning into that same song that had been stuck in my head the whole day.

Then the room disappeared, a dark stage appearing where I stood, an awed crowd watching my every movement, hanging on my every note. Lights hues of white, blue and red shone on me like a spotlight, but I was bathing in it.
Words flowed out of my mouth, more solo following, the huge weight disappearing from my shoulders as black wings sprouted from my back, though I didn't notice.
I was caught in the moment.
I was flying up and out, though my feet never left the ground.
And now, whenever I feel stress building to the point of breaking, I find my true love- my guitars, and everything disappears and only I am left.

Me and my guitars, concurring the world, one note at a time.
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Mood: mixed
Music: \'Remains of the day\' by Danny Elfman