melody gardot, bridget bardot,
Wow the tunes just sing to me
As I hum through
The way I remembered having been struck by that car was when I read about you, as I listened to you sing. There was no memory then of my having kissed the man who, with his outstretched hand, guided me into the back of the cab. We had not met before yet I felt I had known him forever.
As I thought about him, him and his dark hair with that flip that just curled and made me want to lick my dry lips, I remembered a time before I thought of music as my salvation. Music was, then, something others made, a trumpet that was selected by a chosen few, like crumpets, something shiny and loved and made by a chosen few. The sound that came out was triumphant, or slow, drawn out like a beautiful elegy, but somehow I still thought it separate from me, distracted as I was generally by the hubbub around me.
My salvation? I used to think of my salvation as an ultimate treasure, the Hope diamond, indescribable but recognizable by all, something to live for – then I began to realize that my salvation comes when I shrug off the fear and feel that pulse of hope, of courage I need to put my fingers on the keys and let the music come.