The Music That Won’t Let Me Go

I wish I could just listen to music and enjoy it. Some people can—they hear a song and smile, or feel calm. But for me, music is never just music. It’s a doorway. It pulls me into memories I didn’t ask to visit.

When I hear certain notes, I feel the weight of the past. I think of people I’ve lost—family, friends, voices I’ll never hear again. I think of people I met and found interesting, but never got to know. And the ones I did care about, but somehow let slip away. Those missed chances stay with me. They hurt more than I expected. More than I admit.

Sometimes music helps. It calms me, like sitting in a quiet garden. But more often, it stirs things up. Regret. Sadness. Choices I wish I could change. It doesn’t knock—it just walks in and fills the room.

Still, I need it. I can’t live without music. Even when it scares me, even when it hurts. It reminds me I’m alive. That I’ve felt deeply. That I still care.

And lately, I wonder—maybe music is trying to pull something out of me. Not just memories, but meaning. Maybe it wants me to speak. To share. To turn all this feeling into something that might help someone else. I don’t know. But I’d like that. I’d like to believe that all this ache could become something beautiful. Something true.

I envy people who can just enjoy it. Who don’t get pulled under. But maybe I was made to feel things more deeply. Maybe music knows that—and that’s why it finds me.