The girl

She keeps listening to that particular song. Over and over, continuously clicking on the title on her media player. Its like a breathe of calming air that came from the ears and rushes to the heart. It makes her feel sad and happy at the same time. The lumpy-choking-falling feeling that you get at the end o a really good happy-sad-emotional movie. Its the way the melody and the words of a poet just complement each other.

This girl use to be so damn proud of her music. How it sets her apart, made her feel superior, different and not superficial like how she views her world and the puppets that walk pass her and giving that 100 watt of fake smile. But like every perfect nut on the tree; it has no way to go but hit the ground before being cracked by the cunning Mr and Mrs squirrel. Then she realises that her music is not hers to begin with but to share. And maybe some say the music she listens to - that she claims give her more oxygen than the act of breathing itself is nothing but music for the dead and those who are about to succumb to death itself.

Her heart does ache when people are not able to find the jewels that she has found in her playlist.
Nevertheless, she is never happier to surround herself in the endless songs in her playlist. Sometimes, there are songs with loud noise as the old refer to; then the music shuffles to the songs that praises and reminds her to the faith she hold strong to; it never ends because it shuffles to the slow soothing soft melodies that tells her life is like how Annie always say it is 'A hard-knock Life' but there will always be hope and love. Yes, the one thing that all the songs written by a wide range of musicians from different countries, backgrounds, race, beliefs and gender always reminds her is that there is always love. Always.