I’ve been in the emergency psych ward for about 24 hours. There’s not much to do besides talking to other patients, and I’m feeling restless. I have three songs from Wave, the latest Patrick Watson album.
I worried the distance would be a death sentence as I found myself alone in my best friend’s mostly empty new living room, 1681 miles from any possibility of weeknight concerts, impromptu G&Ts and sushi, Galentine’s Day, movie marathons, holiday gatherings, city adventures, beach birthdays, and drop-everything post-tragedy afternoons of comfort TV.
The celebrant spoke, but I didn’t hear a word. I fell into a trance, absorbing every once-in-a-lifetime second.
A piano is broken. Burnt, seemingly. A harp is stranded, unplayable. Chairs in a once lavish dining room are rotting.
Bendigo, May 2021 I fidget in my seat here in the middle of the second row of an intimate theatre in my birthplace of Bendigo. I am here to see a local theatre company stage ten ten-minute plays, including one I wrote. I am here with my immediate family, including my [...]
A rollercoaster through yourself. The rain monotonously pounds on the floor-to-ceiling window, obscuring the twinkling lights of the city. Murmurs disperse across the room...
In that final hour, I felt compelled to dance. I’ve never been a dancer, nor have I ever truly felt the inclination, but suddenly, I felt the desperate need to stand up and flail around my bedroom like a madman.
Dreaming made the emptiness I felt less demanding, but there was a hole inside of me. The Trophy Eyes song helps me find my way.
The songs invited me to sing again. And I realised through that two-week journey, that that was what had gone missing.
Songs have been there for me when people haven’t. In the breadth of its short verses, it contains moments that capture everything I have loved about love and have been lucky enough to experience.