i'm holding out and i'm holding on, to every letter and every song

I've always been infatuated with the correlation between the sense of smell and memory. I have this bottle of fragrance that I purchased this summer in Atlanta and first cracked open the next day in Chicago. Chicago - Aug 31, 2008 - the best day of my life. The day I feel can never be beat, though I can't wait to be proven wrong. I have only one bottle and considering that I got it at an outlet mall, I feel there's little chance I'll be able to get my hands on a replacement, so I save it for special occasions. As soon as I spritz it on I'm taken back to that state of bliss. It quiets me, much like the day I uncharacteristically forgot to speak for a number of hours. I bet if you watched me indulge in a few sprays, you'd notice that I likely close my eyes for a few moments and crack a smile.

Today is Christmas Eve. I have always felt that it's a little more magical than Christmas Day. I like the days and moments leading up to things because you almost forget that you're about to crash when it's over. The excitement about the possibility of something fantastic and magical is normally better than the actual thing you are waiting for. As a child, everything that I liked about Christmas happend on Christmas Eve. It was about magic and mystery and an experience, and these memories far outlast any gift I've ever received. I guess I haven't changed much. If I took all of the money I spend each year on travel, concert tickets and music and adjusted my budget I could likely own a private jet; yet if I were that person, I'd have no place to go...at least not any place that would make me feel anything close to hearing my favorite band in a 100 person venue play songs I never thought I'd hear outside of my car speakers. Going to Europe is never what makes me cry. I cry bc I know I'm about to be able to spend a significant amount of time, in my home - in front of a stage. I know that I'll spend night after night in musical heaven and day after day trying to relive it in the car and building up that excitement again and again for the next show. I was bred for this.

I'm not quite sure why I haven't let my memories and tears from the last week in NYC spill out over the screen just yet, but I think it may have something to do with keeping it close, because it's all mine. When a week that flawless settles down in your life by chance, you kind of want to remember it the best you can with feelings instead of words. Sometimes you read the words later and forget what you were even trying to say and that blog ends up distorting your memory of the situation completely. I can't throw my heart beat on the screen. I can't make you actually feel what it's like the moment before I know I'm going to burst into tears or the way my cheeks hurt at the end of a show bc I've screamed and smiled so hard that somehow that pain morphs into some sort of euphoric pleasure. I read other people's blogs and I gasp, I laugh, I choke, I cry; but only when it hits a nerve, and as close as I may feel to any one of you at that point, it can never be as good for me as it was for you.

I love the way you love. I love the way you want to throw that out on a screen and dualy get it out of your system to avoid screaming and hope someone else understands, if only for a second. I love the way that no matter how close your heart is to breaking completely, you dive in again because this is your drug. If you could shoot it into your veins, you'd do it til it killed you. In reality, that statement is probably far too true for most of us here. Til the day I die, I'll never stop drowing in someone's words or dancing to someone's beat. I'll never pass by a stereo without turning it up. I'll never choose life over love and I'll never forget how to experience the greatest reaction I've ever grown into. Happy tears heal broken hearts. xo