This is nice

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Music is nice. I guess what I do now. I guess this is how it feels to put “Listens to music” as a “hobby” in your bio.I suppose consuming art that bad. Developing taste, enriching your mind with the visions of different artists… This is nice. This is something special. This is what life can mean. I could do this for a very long time.

I wave to him, trying to catch his gaze. He falls for the bait, and walks over.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks.

You should know what’s up, I think to myself. “Did you listen to those songs I sent you yet?”

“Songs?” He ruminates. He looks at the ceiling, as if he were trying to conjure up some celestial being to transport him out of this confrontation with me. I can sense his apprehension. I’m disappointed, but I want to push further.

“Those rap songs.” Yes, I sent him rap songs. Yes, he listened to some before. No, it’s not some obscure artist.

“Oh, yeah. I listened to some of them.” He replies.

I look past the ‘some.’ “So… what did you think?” I gesture with my hands, trying to conjure my own celestial being to try to get him to keep talking with me. Feels like I’ve got to conduct rituals just to get a guy to listen to a few four-minute songs.

“Yeah, they were OK.”

Just “OK?” I thought. That’s your only opinion on it?

As if on cue, he adds “I really liked the first song.”

He snaps me out of my stupor. “Oh? Yeah, that one was a little poppier than the other ones. In that song, he really focused on the overall atmosphere, and not on just the lyrics or the beats. I really liked the abrasive feeling of the other songs, but that one was pretty smooth, you know? Like…”

I was going to inject some random metaphor into my spiel, but his eyes already looked clouded over. I shut my lips, and in a snap, he was looking awake again. I take in another breath, and he stiffens up. Like he’s bracing against impending doom. Impending tangent.

I sigh through my nose. “It was a nice song, yeah.” I can read the situation. I can learn. I won’t send him any more songs. I’ll just keep it to myself.

It’s fine if I’m alone, I reassure myself. I’ve always been alone. I can live with this. 

But it would’ve been nice. A change of pace; another person to share my thoughts with.

The rest of the day goes on as usual. Nobody talking to me. Nobody greeting me unless I greet them first.

Eventually, I get the day over with. I walk home alone, drumming beats against my thigh with the tips of my fingers. I’m trying to ignore the silence. I’m trying to fill up the gaps of empty sound between the school and my house. A two-minute walk – nothing that long.

But silence feels like an eternity if you’re waiting for it to end.

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