The Day the Music Died

I can't pinpoint the exact time in my life I noticed the music stop playing. The day it died.

                                              

 But I do know that it has been gone for a while now. It was brutally murdered, hauled off in a hearse, and buried six feet deep left to rot. 

I keep telling myself that if I am good that I will somehow be able to find Jesus. If anybody can bring the music back from the dead into my life, surely, it's Jesus.

I just want to go back to the days where the days don't matter. Where I have hours to sit and think on the front steps as the last rays of sun vanish behind the mountains. When I have all day to think, dream, and create. Think, dream, create. Over and over again, never getting old. 

I want to hear the rhythmic melodies of the piano. The hum of the guitar that resonates throughout the room. I want to hear the sweet crooning of the vocalist. I desperately want to hear that song again.