“Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway.” – Emory Austin
I sing a lot these days. It’s much easier to sing when there’s nobody around to hear me, even though I know that there isn’t a soul who would take to my singing badly. I’ve missed singing. Ever since I moved back here, I’ve only ever been able to sing in the car, which did wonders for my breathing and diaphragm control. And now that I’m alone in this house, I fill the void and silence by singing along to my iTunes, singing the songs I’ve loved most of my life.
When I sing, I think of you. I think of how you once said that one day, I would have to sing for you, because you loved my speaking voice and my laugh, and you wanted to hear my singing voice too. I think of the music we loved that bound us together, the concerts we attended and raved about after, and the meaning behind the music which we never dared to admit was what we were to each other.
And then my heart breaks, because I wonder why I didn’t just sing it to you, if that would have made it easier for me. I wonder why I didn’t just use the music that was our lives, our special bond, to accomplish what my own speaking voice never could. It breaks my heart that I never got the chance to sing to you, so now I try and comfort myself by singing for you, even though the music has long since died, and we have been thrown out from our little secret world, cursed to become strangers in the harsh reality of a life that was never meant to be ours.
But I sing anyway.