Found myself in the fire burnt hills
In the land of a billion lights”
-“City of Angels” by Thirty Seconds to Mars
She was spinning. Arms held out from her sides, head twirling and whirling until the neon lights of the streets were just colored blurs, like a high speed film of cars whirring by. The wind whistled in her hair; she threw back her head to the midnight sky, the winking stars, and she laughed. Sheer joy filled her up, her cup overflowed and poured out onto the burnt concrete around her sneakers. Her jeans were ratty, and the old Jansport bag on her back was missing two zippers, but her heart was full. It felt like listening to glorious music- the kind that fills up a hole in your chest you didn’t even know you had, a dry well aching for water. Water could be sound. The headphones dangling around her neck had proven that to her over and over again, but she needed no artificial human noise now, no matter how glorious. She was here, the City of Lights, the City of Angels, the City of Hope, where destitution became a dream realized, and nothing was going to stop her. She looked at the lights, tears streaming unabashedly down her face, and whispered:
For anyone who hasn’t listened to this song by Thirty Seconds to Mars, I strongly recommend it as one of my all-time favorites. This piece is an attempt at quantifying how that song, and a select few others, make me feel. Any songs you want me to write about, or music you want to discuss? Put it in the comments!