Music moves my poor writing skills, I know I’ll never be a Shakespeare, a Cervantes or a Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who made the world spin around Macondo, and that’s alright. We are all unique in this world, and we can’t repeat someone else’s path.
But I when listen to Chopin something is triggered inside me.
The melody starts, and it slowly awakens a need in me, a hollow that becomes bigger with every note. And darkness that doesn’t t understand of light, or happiness drills its toxins in my veins, and my fingers move in the keyboard.
The world around me disappears. I disappear. And I see stories unveiling before me, and I see dragons, castles, princesses, kings fighting battles and queens running away to safety. I see a thousand stories unfolding before me, and I’d like to take you with me to these unknown worlds, where I see scared giants threated by evil Davids, cruel unicorns that drink blood from innocent maids, and gentle and misunderstood foxes, who wish nothing but to be loved. Strange worlds, where all logic is defied by evil spirits that hide in the shadows at times, and at times come into light disguise as gentle souls.
I see all this when I listen to Chopin.
I’ll never be a Shakespeare, and that’s fine because I have thousands of suns burning in me.