my eyes widen as i see the discord messages light up the screen. my friend, jul (author of the flood. blog), is currently texting me with the idea of a collab she’s had. it’s a genius idea; a series of writers take the same lyric from the song hometown by twenty øne piløts and create whatever piece of art it will inspire them to write.
music works like magic on the soul. the way the instruments are played and the way the lyrics are perfectly married to the music can really touch people in many different ways. music can inspire the sparks of encouragement, uplifting joy and motivating ideas from deep within us. what’s fascinating is just how many ideas only one song can set into action. with jul’s collaboration idea, we could experiment and see what one lyric, used as a prompt, could inspire in several writer’s minds. so, a trinity of writers were chosen – jul, myself and clara (author of the blog, midnight mind). the three of us, as avid music-lovers, were ecstatic to begin work on our project.
it was really out of this world to see the power of music work right throughout the collab. it was magical how we could take someone’s piece of art (i.e. tyler joseph’s lyrics from hometown) and weave out a completely unique new piece/form of art from it. the very act of creation is incredible.
now, around a month since jul sent me that text, the project has come together perfectly. i was very much honoured to work along not only two of the greatest writers i know, but also two of the greatest friends i have. a most massive thank you goes to jul for asking me to join in!
as this is a three part collab, the pieces will be posted on three different websites. links will be included at the end of the post.
so, now, i have the honour of presenting you with clara’s richly-worded and elegantly-written sketch below. enjoy:
a shadow tilts its head at me, spirits in the dark are waiting / i will let the wind go quietly, i will let the wind go quietly.
hometown, twenty øne piløts
It is 1:44 AM, and you are sitting on the dark living room floor, leaning against the couch and waiting for your sister to finish her shower. The emptiness of the room seems to press close around you, and vague shapes loom in place of the furniture, their shadows leaning heavy against your shoulders. You are thinking about the drive home tonight, about the rain-soaked interstate blurring outside your window, about letting deep exhaustion pull you under and waking up so foggy and tired and vaguely aware of reality, about watching yourself through a swirling cloud of gray.
Here in the stillness of home, the cloud still lingers behind your eyelids, reminding you that no matter what your mind tries to convince you of, you are not quite yourself at this hour. You close your eyes and focus, making yourself notice every sound that breathes in the shadows. The refrigerator hums and grumbles to itself, the dryer buzzes, a ceiling fan whispers, and the floors shift and sigh—all of these sounds mixing with the muted, erratic heartbeat of a midnight rainstorm.
Raindrops thump gently against the side of the house and dance across the puddled ground, making soft splashing noises in the darkness. In the faint reflection of the kitchen light, every drop of water is illuminated against the living room windows, hundreds of shining teardrops that slide and shrink and swirl together to create an abstract painting across the glass.
At your feet, the air conditioning releases a final sigh of warm air into the room before fading into silence. In the new quiet, a sudden image floods your mind—the waitress at the restaurant tonight, the one with blue glasses and a pink sweatshirt and the softest, easiest smile, the kind that you ached to photograph. You wish you had told her that she had a wonderful laugh.
It’s a small thought, fleeting and unimportant, but something about its light is like a gentle wind, causing the clouds to drift aside. In an instant, an overwhelming sort of gratefulness pierces something deep and true beneath your heart.
You don’t deserve any of the beautiful things that you’ve been lucky enough to experience.
It is 2:16 AM, and the thought is so warm and comforting that you feel as if you could stay right here forever, eyes on the rain-soaked window, mind on the beauty of it all, just listening to the storm as it sings itself to sleep.
read my piece on the flood. HERE
read jul’s piece on midnight mind HERE