I haven’t heard the world around me in so long.
Inside my brain is a turntable, going round and round with the same problems, always spinning to the future.
It has always done this.
It skips and replays until everything sounds so fuzzy, I can’t hear my own body breathe.
I get so clenched up inside.
The worries stack on.
The more I try to hear the world outside, the louder the static gets. The record just spins and spins.
I’ve sat by this record player so long, I don’t know how to do anything else.
So I wait.
I wait for clarity. I wait for peace.
I sit beside my circling record player, hearing everything and nothing, hoping one day something will cut through the noise.
I know there are beautiful things happening out there.
But how do I hear them with my record always getting louder?
The funny thing about the record in my head is I think it’s scratching me.
So I’m done now.
This record has played a long time, and it’s scratched me up enough.
I’m taking off the needle.
I have all the strength I need. I’m standing up.
Here is where I will face my problems.
Here is where I will finally hear something new.
Because I’m putting on a new record, one that stays here and plays a song just for this moment.
And this record, it never sounds the same.