The Strain(s) Of A Song

It's a sweet tune, but a sad tune. It's a tune of love, but it has strains of hurt and it's just so sad and yet so lovely and happy at once.

When I listen to it, I think of being in a fairytale. It's that feeling you get when you watch a good movie, or read a good book. When the fairytale ends and you're brought back to reality. That bittersweet feeling, of losing something you love, but know is fiction. Of losing something you know can only be a dream.

The song is a dream. I watched the movie because I couldn't bare to not know how the dream ended. It was lovely. They were lovely. They had a happy ending. But the strains of the song haunt me. I can hear the violin when I sleep and the tune causes me to lose focus and drift off into a place I don't know how to return from.

The song is hope, and love and ecstasy, but also disappointment and hurt at once. Some days I can't stand the hollow the song brings, the sheer emptiness. And yet it's there, waiting, eating into me, filling me up, seeping into my skin, sinking into my blood, haunting every thought.

I'm in a different place when I hear its melancholy strains. It's a place I used to be in, but I can't put a finger on it. The feeling is familiar but it's almost painful to hear it. And yet it's like a drug. I need to listen to it. To the point where I can't stand it anymore and I know the dream has to end.

Sometimes music has a way of making you feel what you don't want to feel, what you don't know you're feeling, reminding you of what you want to feel. Many songs have put me under a spell, but this is different. This song is an emotion. This song is a feeling. And I don't know how to listent to it anymore.



I've been listening to a song that is under my skin now and I can't sleep or wake up without listening to it. It's from a movie from three years ago. And I stumbled across it after a long time and I was taken to another place.

I'm under a spell. I'm so completely taken by this tune, I wonder if it will ever get old. It's completely riveting. It's so beautiful, it actually hurts on on some level. I close my eyes and I honestly feel the song. I am in it and it's in me. It haunts me and I can't seem to find a way to break the spell.

The Reflection

They're all pretty. They all have the perfect bodies. Their hair is mussed and their scarves are awry but they look perfect all the time. I catch my own reflection in the mirror and grimace.The girl sitting next to me at uni is just so pretty, I'm feeling lecherous.

I've always had a problem with how I look. I don't consciously think of it every single waking moment, but I wonder sometimes what it must be like to make heads turn. To be beautiful, pretty even. To be able to mesmerise with just the way you wear your hair or do your makeup.

I can't even stand myself without what K used to call 'black shit'. I don't even recognise myself without it.

The gym is every guy's dream. Women stripping naked and heading for the shower. And everybody's perfect. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in some weird little Stepford Wives-esque place. It's not helping my self-esteem.

It takes me so long to feel comfortable being naked with someone. It's just so painful to have to admit to another human being that you have flab. Even if I lose weight, my body structure is just made to make me look like a walking elephant. Nothing helps. I'm getting more annoyed at the gym.

I've learned, made a conscious attempt to like myself and I'm getting there. I have respect for me, and I like me, but some days I wish I was pretty. That facial hair, flab and a big nose would be someone else's nightmare, not mine. Some days I wish I could walk into a bar and be the one the men wanted to talk to rather than the Asian girl with the hot White one.

Then I catch myself in the mirror again and I know it's not going to change and I'm getting used to it.