Never Lost Control
It's one thing to enjoy a song, and then it's another to hear that same song again and have everything click.
It's an odd serendipitous feeling of being exposed and recognized by a higher something — to be called out by a voice (you quite often) don't know personally.
It's never a slow realization.
It's always a faint tap on my shoulder. And as I turn around to see who or what tapped my shoulder, I get punched by the spiteful being that got my attention.
And it growls, “Don't you dare look back.”
And, at that moment, I understand that if I look back, I'll get punched again.
Sometimes I listen to them, let the music sink in, and stay in the moment. But sometimes I run toward what got me to turn around in the first place. Haphazardly staggering to connect the dots of my past into a story that so happens to parallel what I'm listening to.
I want to know — how did they know that this was the right time to get my attention?
But before I get too close to this creature, they vanish. And their laugh echoes all around.
I looked back.
Part of me is satisfied to connect dots in my life, even if for a second. But there is another part of me that is left uncomfortable and gnawed at.
Why can't I look back?
The only possible reason I've come to is this: There is a horrible, cruel, spiteful part of me is self-aware of my entire life's story, every possible outcome, choice. And that part just wants to see me struggle and suffer in trying to make sense of its sudden attention.
Because why entertain the idiot?