The Day the Music Died

After I was severed, I couldn't make myself listen to anything. I had no choice but to drown in K-pop because I couldn't understand the lyrics. Even Japanese hurt my ears. Somehow, Portuguese is the only Romance language I could listen to, other than that, I'd rather choose silence over remembrance.

The same is true with the written word. The other day, I had no choice but to read something in French and it pierced me. Much like German did before, though I didn't have a choice then but to swallow large chunks of text in Deutsche Übersetzung...to regurgitate them into more meaningful bites for a restructured thesis proposal.

Still trying to heal. Slowly beginning to make myself listen to jazz and classical pieces--trying to find out what it is to be whole again. 

Baby steps. 

I'd have to tune my violin one of these days.

*Title adapted from Don McLean's "American Pie" (Homage to the deaths of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson)