Things that used to be beautiful. They used to make music that would melt you. They would bring you right into another feeling of existence. They would remind you that we can be kids again if only by our hearts. We can remember looking over the edge of a balcony for the first time and the sick feeling you got when you imagined falling from it. We can feel again the way it felt to be new in a school and you make that first real friend. We can travel the same roads we travel so many times before and wished they would never change even an inch of their concrete DNA. Even these things fall apart. The roads fall apart. They end up rubble. But that music. It plays forever doesn't it? You cannot take that away. No form of erosion, electric or weathered can break that music free from your heart. It holds on through all things. We may lose the places we love and have set our feet on so many times, but we won't lose what they meant to us, or who they meant to us. Without dementia, we can still go back, for a moment. We can still feel the bricks at our back and the fire at our feet. We can still hear the sound of the street lights turning on and the smell of an elementary school. We can smell our mother's sweater or our father's cologne again. We can feel his stubble on our cheeks as he hugs us. We can feel again her hands sweep across our hair as we weep. It doesn't have to be over. For a few minutes, the music can play and we can be somewhere else. Somewhere other than here.
Sing.
Migrate.
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