Thin black lines and the spaces in between

The life of one single note.

The one note that might change a whole symphony. Hoping and waiting for its time to shine, will it make it, or will it fall short? With clones filling the spaces in between, jumping from one line to the next, it's easy to feel substandard. Siblings that have their own size, shape, and sound, fill the only place you have ever known. It's not home, it's not your room, or your work, or school, just a space. A space that only has lines.

The black lines will stretch from one end of the page to the next. The black lines appear three or four times on one page, like floors in a big building. The rooms that are shared amongst other notes seem all but roomy. It's easy to get lost in the smallness of one's surroundings, compared to the vastness of a song.

There are songs that stretch so far that the notes at the beginning will never know what the end will sound like. Then there are songs that are so short, so crowded, some notes only know other notes. Some notes take up more space, some last longer by just being there. There are some notes so short and sweet that you can barely hear them.

When a note is finished and no longer has any sound to make, what happens? If the same note appears later on in the song, does it know that it was here earlier? A note that sits on the line, or in between it, waiting for its chance probably doesn't care about the future or the past. They say the past will haunt you until you learn to let it go, but does a note remember where it was earlier in the song? Do they worry about the final line coming to a close? It's possible they wait until their big moment, then that's it. They don't have any other opinion or care about what happens before or after them.

Maybe it doesn't matter, but does that mean you don't give it your all? I know they do. Every note puts its best foot forward in an uncertain situation. No one can tell me, that unless instructed to, that a note does not belt its little note self to the world to see. Music is meant to be heard, listened to, and inspire. Drifting through the lines of music like the waves of the ocean. Changing pitches, tones, and volumes throughout its legacy. They will leave behind rhythms and beats for your soul. Your brain never forgets the thought-provoking stanzas of a song.

With every significant silence comes the warm hum of notes flying out of instruments and mouths. They spring into action like cannonballs hurling towards a ship. You sit there in the audience, taking in every moment, every note, of the symphony. Patiently, you open your ears and your heart to the music that is about to come.

Your heart beats to the sound of the drums. Pounding away at your chest like a hammer. Boom, boom, boom. Then the strings play with your hair. You're brought back to a time when you needed to hear the sweetest of words. Finally, we have the brass that takes your breath away. Relaxing in your seat, breathless and moved, you wait for the next part.

The sopranos bring a chorus to your attention, telling you stories of love, hate, and pain. Whatever memories that light up to the keywords, their meanings, and their story, they guide you to your emotions. The altos set the scene, putting the rhythm through your skin. Slowly, the goosebumps that have been at the ready raise to attention. You can feel the pressure and emotion filling in your throat. Here comes the bass that ties everything together. Connecting all of the pieces into a beautiful harmony that can only be described as angles.

Then silence and applause.