I’ve been listening to music for as long as I could remember, it’s always been there like a guardian angel. My mom always played music in the house, in the car, while we were hiking, anywhere. I’ve inherited her love for music and the want to listen to all kinds of music. Music is my savior, my hero. It can be so powerful and moving and touching.. It can also be so relatable so heartbreaking and so meaningful. When I was in a dark time and I felt like I didn’t have anyone, my music was there for me. It lifted me up when I wanted comfort, it related to me when I wanted to feel like I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. I ranted to it, I yelled at it, I cried to it, I confined in it, I rioted with it, I swayed with my music. It was there for me, through everything. When I needed a place to escape to, if reality was too much, it gave me a safe place to hide. A place to relax and be calm, a place to be myself and to be happy. At one point in time, music was my only will to live. How could I listen to it if I’m dead? How could I dance to it if I couldn’t move my body? How could I comprehend its meaning if i’m not conscious? These were questions that I never wanted to answer, I just needed to have my music and I would be fine. I’m in a better place now and I still listen to music for hours every day. I still rant to it, yell at it, cry to it, confine in it, riot with it, and sway with it. But now, I sing the same tune as it. I match it’s joyous melody and bounce with it. It’s been with me through thick and thin, and it always will be. I love music and music loves me.