When the world closes in,  
when the weight of it all feels too much,  
I find the sound.  
It doesn’t matter where it begins—  
a single note, a voice, a beat—  
it wraps around me like a second skin.  

I turn the volume up,  
higher, higher,  
until the voices in my head—  
the ones that tell me I’m not enough—  
are drowned in the flood of melody.  
I let the rhythm take me,  
let it carve a path through my insecurities,  
let it silence the noise of doubt.  

It doesn’t matter the genre.  
A symphony, a scream, a whisper—  
it all speaks the same language.  
It all knows me.  
The songs say what I can’t,  
feel what I’m too afraid to feel.  
Every lyric an open hand,  
every chord a heartbeat I can follow.  

I lose myself in it,  
and somehow, I find myself too.  
The music doesn’t ask who I am,  
it doesn’t care what I’ve done.  
It just is.  
It holds me steady  
when the world tilts sideways.  

And in that moment,  
there is nothing but the sound.  
No pain, no fear, no doubt.  
Just the hum of life,  
the pulse of love,  
the escape I never knew I needed.  

Because music isn’t just sound—  
it’s a place.  
A home where I can be whole,  
where I can be free.