Welcome To March

There was a lake, a vast bed that shed ripples one after another as a breeze that I could not feel because it was just a dream swept over the city; tall buildings sat at the other side of the lake, and between those buildings were the buildings that were not so pristine; and as the dazzling sun shot through the cracks between the clouds, which were creating an odd floral design, the song queued all around me...

It was like nothing I had ever heard, before, yet somehow, it was familiar, each note sounding so clear that I could just imagine where my fingers would lay on the neck of the guitar if I was to play it. Without any conscious thought, I felt my head turning fluidly this way and that, taking in where I was standing: there was nothing around me within fifty yards, save for the grass that welted where the concrete started, and then there were broken buildings, a car that was beaten to hell, several inanimate objects that I could not name, now, and as I stared, the song continued, flowing with the same pattern, but then there were drums! And a second guitar started to fade into the rhythm, providing for a more chill-inspiring experience, and finally, there were words, wrapping around the patterns of the music, barreling in my ears, and the words spoke perfectly for the instruments I was hearing. And suddenly, I felt myself missing a small part that no one should be without. "Can you feel it? It's not like we could have been without some light, before we realize that these motels and city streets are the best parts of our lives."

I had nothing to hold on to but what was around me, and I suddenly knew just what everything represented; be it the tallest buildings or the vastest sea, everything represented that even the smallest things somehow give us comfort in a time when we don't have anyone to hold on to. And as I woke from that dream, I found myself for the longest time delving into the music I was hearing, forcing myself to remember the words, because, like those motels and city streets, they were as much a small thing that gives me comfort so that I could go on until I found someone to hold on to. When I do, I won't pretend that it's bright enough to keep me satisfied for the rest of my life.

I stood at the foot of my bed, staring at my guitar, wondering if I could pull it off. My pick was stowed beneath the strings at the second fret, and I couldn't help myself. I picked up the acoustic as gently as I could, readied myself, trying to remember that beautiful song, and I began to play. It wasn't right at first, but after studying each note and what could be or not be, I found what I was looking for. And taking those words I had heard before I awoke, I allowed the dream to come to life, allowed myself to start the morning with something precious:

"Can you feel it? It's not like we could have been without some light, before we realize that these motels and city streets are the best parts of our lives."

I've decided to call the song "Welcome to March". Not just because I had the dream on the first of March, but because when I looked out my window and saw the sun streaming across the lawn and the woods, saw the cracks through the clouds and the grass seeping through the patches of snow, I could nearly hear the song as though I had fell asleep once more.