How could I have known?
That the first day I traced the nickel keys,
The first time I ran my hands over the wooden bell,
But sure enough,
Forty-eight hours and a box of reeds later,
I knew.
This is what I was meant to do,
And I know that most of you have also felt that.
Whether it was dropping in on your first wave,
Picking up your first lacrosse stick,
Or even opening your first book,
You knew that this was it.
You knew that this is who you are,
Who you’re meant to be.
I knew this when I looked at the clock and it was three hours later,
Raw fingers and cracked, bloodied lips,
But I didn’t care.
In those moments,
I was happy,
And ya know,
Happiness doesn’t come around too often.
But when you find that happiness,
Whether it’d felt by playing an instrument,
Getting lost in a book,
Or scoring a point or goal or basket in whatever sport,
You want to hold onto it.
Forever.
It doesn’t matter if you’re made fun of loving it by your entire PE class or your teachers.
It doesn’t matter if you’re high or low on the social class,
Hell,
You could be anywhere from a laxer to a tech nerd to a band geek,
But if you find true happiness in that one thing you do,
You simply don’t care what people have to say about it.
I mean,
I would know.
I fell in love with a gorgeous cylinder of wood with some keys thrown on here and there,
And I fell in love with being able to transform a mere sheet of black and white notes into a world of color and wonder and beauty.
During this,
I lost my friends,
The ones who are constantly staring into a mirror caking on more powders and more mascara and who knows what,
Looking for a beauty they can’t find.
They laughed at me,
Made fun of me,
But I knew that I was the one who found true beauty,
Not the illusion they try to project.
When I left these fake people,
I found what I was looking for all along.
I found what most daydream about,
I found what I thought that I would never, ever find.
I found acceptance,
And I found the true beauty that I thought was only an
illusion.
I found people like me,
I found people who would practice and practice and practice until
their fingers couldn’t move anymore,
And they had to stop playing because they lost feeling in their lips.
They al l found true beauty in merely blowing air through a beautiful construction of brass or wood or plastic or metal.
They found true beauty in hitting a giant wood piano with some sticks with yarn at the end.
But no matter what the played in this magnificent ensemble we call life,
They were the ones who found the truest and purest beauty.

                                         {s.r}