PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My friend, who’s name I’ll keep unwritten, has the gift of turning everything in gold. He talked about his dreams and aspirations with a passion that burned everyone around him; sometimes too much that people couldn’t understand him. I guess our friendship started by me being part of his dreams, working his way until he made them reality. He is a musician, automatically making him ten times more sensitive and tended to dream like his life depended on it. He had a catch, though; wanting something so bad can make you forget what you already have. Listening to him talk about the song that has been stuck in his head and how much a lyric meant to him, turned the song around. I could listen to him talk for hours and he would listen to me for days; that’s just how it worked. We were special because our friendship was filled with excitement and sentiment. The dream was to share his music and passion with as many people as possible, to make words stay instead of just fading away. He dreamed of doing the impossible, to achieve what others just don’t dream about. Dreams of delivering the feeling of a moment, the power of a couple of words and to colour the emotion gold. I always thought he would make it, because besides the fact that he was ambitious: he was talented. A deadly combination. He is a bass player, writing music for the band that had the finest number one fan. He made me like what he played and what he listened, even when I enjoyed better a complete opposite genre before I met him. We complemented each other in a way that every time we shared the meaning behind any song, there was an engine that made the heart beat faster. We were the lucky ones to coincide in this life. He supported every dream I had, and fixed a new point of view that I never thought I had. On the grey days, he let them be grey. He used to encourage himself to feel and just feel. For him, even the greys were gold, but when the days where gold… It was impressive to see the way he glowed. But sometimes we feel too much, and to do that is a beautiful disaster. A year later it’s impossible to not let life get in the way. Our paths divided and we run separate ways for good or for bad. Fortunately, I saw him fulfill his dreams of being one with his music. We don’t talk anymore, but I remember him on the back of my mind once in awhile, but mostly on every song that’s on my phone.