From the inside looking out...

A while back, I wrote about being on the outside looking in. About watching life happen from a distance, wondering where I fit in it all... 

Lately, life has turned that around.

I've been on the inside... looking out.

Ever since my fall and the injury to my knee, my world has suddenly become much smaller. Things I never gave a second thought have become things I miss more than I ever imagined.

Walking without thinking. Long walks that clear my mind. Swimming. Running into the grocery store without planning every step. Simply trusting that my own leg will carry me.

Now, every step comes with a little hesitation. Sometimes I forget and start walking too fast, only to feel my knee give a warning that makes my heart skip a beat. I'm constantly afraid it might fail beneath me.

It's strange how quickly we can lose appreciation for the things that once felt so ordinary.

The day after my accident, I spent far more time in bed than I wanted to. I lay there in silence, watching the world through my window.

The sun found its way through the leaves, painting golden rays across the glass. The trees danced in the wind while life continued outside without me.

And I cried... 

Not because of the pain alone.

Because sometimes when you're forced to stop moving, your thoughts finally catch up with you.

As I lay there, I listened to replays of livestreams I'd missed while traveling. Voices I'd heard hundreds of times before suddenly felt different. More intimate. 

Some people say music is just music... 

I don't think they've ever needed it the way some of us have.

For some of us, music becomes oxygen. It becomes medicine. A safe place. Sometimes even the closest thing we've ever had to a GOOD THERAPIST. And... They become the window to the outside world... For what we haven't seen, but even more... What we have yet to have felt... 

I've been teased my whole life for the music I love. People have laughed, rolled their eyes, even told me I should "find something else to listen to."

But they don't understand.

Some artists don't just make songs.

They become the soundtrack to your healing, your happiest memories, and the days you weren't sure you would survive.

Their voice became a bandage for wounds no one else could see.

Their songs gave me permission to cry when I couldn't find the tears on my own.

They gave me reasons to smile on days when smiling felt impossible.

They reminded me to keep going when giving up seemed easier.

So when I looked out that window, with tears running down my face and music filling the quiet room, I realized something... 

I'm some weird way... I wasn't alone.

Not because someone was physically there beside me.

But because somewhere, through melodies, lyrics, and a familiar voice, I was being reminded that even in the stillness... there was hope.

Maybe that's why some people will never understand "fangirling."... Eeew I hate that word... But yes, still... 

Because to them, it's just an artist... 

To someone else, that artist may have quietly helped save a life.

And that...

That was never just music..

- Merry -