To Simon and Garfunkel

Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me

Home, where my thought’s escaping
Home, where my music’s playing
Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me

Dear Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel,

I write to you as I listen to your Central Park (1981) Concert on YouTube, for what probably might be the hundredth time. Trust me, it’s really difficult to put on a facade of calm, because I’ve never been this happy, at least not this week.

I still remember the first time I ever heard your music: it was a rainy day, and the public transport was stuck, making me late for my lectures. I missed my first lecture, but reached about five minutes late into the second. And there you were, on the big multimedia screen, grinning happily as you sang The Boxer. I remember not being able to put into words what I felt. It was so composing, and peace inducing, melting away all my frustrations and annoyance towards said public transport.

Later, the same week, we happened to read The Dangling Conversation for our poetry class. I had read the lyrics to it, and tried to form music in my head, but I remember being so overwhelmed by the power, and at the same time just the simplicity of the lyrics, picturing still life water colour, and the sun shining through the curtain lace as the shadows wash the room, that my music became all fuzzy, and syncopated. (By the way, that’s the first time I ever came across the word syncopated, and it’s still on my top 10 favourite words list.)

Soon, I heard more of you, and trust me, I’ve never loved music more than when I’d first heard Sound of Silence . I don’t think I’ve ever loved a band, for everything, with everything as much as I love you. And I like to believe that listening to you was one of the richest experiences I’ve heard in the nineteen years of my existence.

I can’t get over the fact that I wasn’t even born before 1981, while I could still have had the chance to hear you perform. Maybe I wouldn’t be as crazy as the man who walked up during The Late Great Johnny Ace , or maybe I would, but I would just like to get you to hear how much you mean to me. From referencing you in most of my blog posts to listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water every time I’m feeling low, to grinning every single time I listen to Kathy’s Song as if it were written about me, and trying to sing Mrs Robinson in my most horrid voice, I’ve done a lot of passive fangirling. Because, for some reason most of my friends just don’t get how amazing you are.

It’s really difficult to know that I’d never ever get to hear the two of you perform live, and just calm myself by listening to Central Park Live every time. Because, like I’ve said to many people great many times that I would do just about anything to be there as the crowds just cheered you on- a million people, under the stars, just listening to the two of you. I wouldn’t mind not being in the front, probably not even close enough to hear you, if I could just be there. I can feel the energy, even as I write this- everybody getting louder and more excited, as you’ve re-entered to perform Old Friends.

I know it’s a long shot asking you to perform once more- just once more. Probably for the peace of my mind- that I was at least alive while you were performing. And aware of you, and knowing that there’d be a million more people listening to you, right now as I dream on about it. I’d be happier still to marry a vinyl record with your music on it, of course, because I couldn’t care for any person more than I’d care for it.

Your music is soul soothing, and lyrics incomparably poetic.

With lots and lots of love,
The Black Wallflower.

Twitter: @WallflowerBlack

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

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