Growing up, music had always been like that elusive guy out of my league, that I had a huge crush on. I would stalk him, chase him, be secretly jealous of anyone else he spoke to. He would speak to me as well - gently, charmingly at times but only once in a blue moon. Leaving crumbs for me to relish. Then I'd wait for another eternity for him to look back at me. It happened too but lasted again for a very short time. Yet I could never stop hoping. And things haven't changed much still. He talks to me more now than he used to and I am still that teenage girl around him. Still as obsessed. I don't think i am ever going to stop chasing.
Yet in all these years someone else has been my stark companion. Somehow I took him for granted. But he's always been there. In my darkest of times, he came as a book or blog or journal to write into and he'd listen quietly, without judgement. At times he would talk back or give advice, "Don't make excuses, find a way." he would say or "This man is not good for you. Cut him off before he harms you more." And on other days he would reward me with a beautiful poem or story that awed me. How could I have written something so good. It was obviously someone else writing through me. He would have done more if i had given him a chance but I'd always chased music instead. He has almost left me now. No more rewards. He still listens but never replies. He's there, he knows I know that. But he's tired of being ignored.
