Weights By: Aliya Talbani It’s more than a lack of. Thats the usual assumption, I suppose. I don't think that’s a very accurate speculation. It’s painful. It ends like a burn; it starts like a weight. It’s hard to say when it begins. You don’t always notice that it’s there. It builds slowly and only when it’s bad do you realize how
The second band, whose lead singer decided to give me his foot to hold when standing in the crowd, gives their final bow and walks away. The lights have dimmed and we wait restlessly for our loves to grace the stage. Finally, the multicolored lights click to life and zip around the stage in search of the beloved band. It’s my own Aurora Borealis bringing my stars to me. We all go ballistic when they play the opening chords of the song. Our phones are recording in one hand while the other is pounding the sky to the beat that the bass and drums are blasting out through the speakers, speakers that envelop us. It’s like nothing outside of this venue matters because it honestly doesn’t. It’s like no matter how big the crowd or stadium is, everyone in here is sharing this long-lasting memory, an intimate moment but with thousands of people. It’s a joyous distraction from life. It’s a nest of acceptance because we can look around at these strangers and know something about everyone: the love the people we love, so we love them back by association. It’s the heart palpitation I get when the lead singer looks my dead in the eyes and sings to me and only me for three fleeting seconds. It’s like someone plugs us up to the sound system and lets the music reverberate inside of our bodies. It’s like an exodus of camaraderie, feeling, understanding, and empowered words when that music flows out of us and into the night sky above. Those who aren’t emotionally invested fangirls like us might have a “Loud Concert, crazy fans,” kind of response.
40 'lre&ro
