What would your life be like without music?

What constitutes as music?

            When the birds chirp in the early hours of the morning, is that not singing? Is the sound of the water rushing over your ears in the throws of a shower so hot, you can almost hear the steam rising into your chest unqualified? If so, should that be any more considered music than the gentle whirr of the showerhead, or the water droplets condensing on the tile? When children laugh and play and all seems well, is that not also music to your ears? What about someone’s voice alone, not even to any tune, beat, or rhyme; just the sheer sound of it, does that not count?

What about the heavy jangling of a dogs collar, strewn with tags of metal, and in the shape of hearts or bones or paws, clanging their way into your room, onto your bed, in the middle of the night? See, to me, those things are all music. It’s the music of my life. I will never be without such a thing, even if the singers stop singing, long after the rappers have gone to jail, and the guitar strings have broken and the line dances broken, there will still be music all around me, I just have to stop, breathe, and listen to it.

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