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Chords

By @Grallingbo

Chords

The tears were beginning to make the strings hard to pluck.

Even before he stepped foot into the quiet, dark bar, Micah felt numb throughout his entire body. Deep inside his chest was his heart, which seemed to cry alongside Micah as it beat to his every gasp and sob. Soon, Micah saw the world as a blurry, mottled mess of dark colors that pooled together and created pure mud. Everywhere he looked then caused nausea to gather in the pit of his stomach, making him feel as if he was being closed in on by the grotesque stains in his vision. It was painful, even when he closed his eyes.

He was tired of hearing his ragged, hitched breathing. He was tired of seeing such revolting colors. He had come to the point where he felt tired of himself for acting this way.

There was only one escape, and he was holding it right in his hands.

Now, here he sat, playing the same batch of chords over and over again. With his face slick with moisture and his teeth clenched together, he continued to pick at the strings, listening to the pleasant sounds they made as they vibrated.

During a time where it feels as if the world is crumbling around you, Micah has come to realize that you can block out the emotions by building sound barriers. As he sat on the sofa with his violin and his broken pride, he focused his ears onto listening in on the melodies.

The sounds… they all became different after what he was told.

Words don’t sound the same after you’ve had words tear down your dreams. No matter what they are, its as if a hostile tinge has been sprinkled into the tone of the vowels and the consonants. The speaker can’t hear it, but its as clear as day in your own ears. You can tell the words have only one, sole purpose, and that’s to tear your pride limb from limb.

You can’t trust the voices. You end up only putting your faith in the music.

The chords leapt out of the strings as each was plucked. Harmonious sounds hovered in the air, eventually clashing together to create wonderful melodies. Beautiful, precious, whole… these were things that Micah didn’t feel in this moment. Yet, these wondrous tunes lit a fire in Micah’s soul that was put out just an hour ago.

Soon, he began to feel again.

Something, anything that he could hear in the music made him feel happy. A soft inflection within the chord when Micah moved his hand up the neck of the guitar, a dip in the sound when Micah moved his hand down, and just a general charm that resonated throughout the sound and went through his body, it all mesmerized him. It made his soul happy.

He knew there was something present within the chords. He could feel it, with the little bit of feel he had within the pads of his fingers. They had weight, something special in their sound that carried relevance.

It made Micah happy. After all, he was the one that was plucking the strings, and it was then when he came to a decision. It was then, when Micah closed his eyes and let the melodies fill his ears, that he finally settled on a conclusion.

He had the skill to play guitar. It wasn’t extravagant, but Christ Almighty, if music had such a lasting, powerful effect on him, then really, it couldn’t matter less. The more he lingered on what people thought about him and his music was time wasted. Time he could’ve spent dedicating to writing songs that brought him pure, absolute joy that maybe, just maybe meant more than the opinions of others.

He wouldn’t let it keep him down. He couldn’t.

Then he opened his eyes.

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