Melancholy in a Box

 
Music has always been a means to transport
Like a time machine
It lets us travel to certain phases and places now long gone
It can take us down memory lane
To where the brain may have forgotten specific memories
To where we may long to remember the pleasure
Or re-live the pain
 
But when the songs are on repeat
They become an endless melancholy in a box
Unable to move forward
Stuck on old wounds
Enjoying the cuts all over again
And whether they’re coming from the old ghetto blaster
Or Walkman
Or Zune
Whatever device you use to listen to those tunes
The world around you keeps spinning
While the nostalgia has no end
 
One day not long ago
I logged on to the old radio station
And though no particular songs triggered a memory
The format made me sentimental
For that younger me
For that foolish me
Resurrecting old ways of thinking
Though I am not that person anymore
 
It’s cracked now
The songs spill sporadically
I still give them a listen every now and then
I can hit replay or whenever they hit the airwaves, I’m way OK
Now they’re just reminders
That being stuck inside a box full of melancholy
Is no way to live