There something about the strum of a guitar that can make you want to stay up all night long just to listen. Just because you don’t want to miss it. The peace of that dreamy wakeness that makes that individual’s fingers pluck the hum, the resonance, the crescendo, decrescendo, break, chorus, scale, whatever. So long as they just keep on playing. Their fingers are the breath that keeps you awakened. Keeps the mind clear from thinking, for all that time, hours even away from anything. That music keeps you in your seat. Melds you to the leather, the cotton, the fabric that felt sticky, uncomfortable moments ago. You are that chair.
Music leaves us sinking, waking, sleeping, nussling, touching, warm and runny, chilled, smiling satisfaction, staying far past our curfew, staying up until the sun comes up, huddled by the fire, glowing, alive in a pitch black room, with nothing but a candle between us, silent, peaceful, kept, self assurance, well with the world.