There was a mystic feeling in my stomach this morning and my heart told me not to move. I had to get out of bed, I knew it was just imagination, it’s not a bad stomach as if I had the flue.
No, this one is different. Linger through every vein, nagging me softly, trying to interrupt, whatever I want or need to do. I know this feeling, I’ve had it many times before. But I never know if I should laugh or cry. I know one thing for certain, something wants out. It’s locked inside my body, steals my focus from anything I ought to do in my supposed to be schedule. It sees it, it sees the opening, starting to grow in my brain. The chain on my bike broke the other day. Still haven’t fixed it, so I had to walk to work today. That was the first opening for the seed to plant. Words popping up in my head, turns in to phrases, dress up in melodies. A story starts to be told. This time it was someone else’s. She told me the story some days ago and it captivated me. It’s been with me since she uttered the her story, her fight. I heard it, I wrapped it in my heart. This story wanted to be told. The seed was planted that morning, but couldn’t grow during the day. Had to focus on work. It really wanted out. Inside of me it told me to leave the computer, leave the job. Who cares about money?! I want out, it screamed! I kept fighting back, ’cause I kind of need money to pay rent and such things. Lunch break. It’s now or never. Half an hour later, I had eaten my lunch, went for a walk, bought a cup of coffee and had four verses on a white piece of paper when i returned. When songs want to be written, they’ll find their writer. The writer is just a deliverer. I’m a deliverer of songs needed to be told. Was it your story that came to me?