The music room feels different when it’s empty—less like a classroom and more like a sanctuary.
I’m perched on the edge of the piano bench, my guitar resting against my knee as late afternoon sunlight filters through dust-covered windows. Senior year has this strange weight to it, doesn’t it? Like every moment is simultaneously endless and slipping away too fast. I’ve been coming here during lunch, finding refuge in the silence between classes where I can actually think, actually breathe.
My fingers absently pick out a melody I’ve been working on—something about transitions and the spaces between who we were and who we’re becoming. There’s this ache in my chest lately, this awareness that everything’s about to change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready.
The hallways buzz with college plans and futures I can’t quite picture for myself yet. But here, with just the guitar and the golden light painting everything soft, I can almost believe that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to figure it all out alone.
