ANGEL
Sometimes I think I will remain in this state of sorrow for the rest of my life.
It is an unpleasant thought, but not an unreasonable one. Some feelings become so well established that they stop behaving like visitors and start behaving like residents. Sorrow, in particular, seems to have an excellent sense of entitlement.
I don't always feel sad. That would be exhausting, even for me. I laugh. I make music. I get irritated by stupid things. I complain about the weather. I have opinions about people I have never met. In other words, I continue to be myself. And yet sorrow remains.
That is the part nobody has told me. I don't necessarily recover from certain things. I simply become more experienced at carrying them around without dropping everything else.
This is why Sarah McLachlan's “Angel” fits the mood so well. There is something about that song that understands exhaustion and sorrow without making a great production out of either one. There is, however, one small problem. I don't believe in angels.
But I can make an exception for a song. After all, music is allowed to take liberties. I can listen to “Angel” and still feel emotional without expecting an actual angel to show up and do anything about it. If I'm going to believe in imaginary creatures, though, I might as well choose something more interesting. A unicorn. For my purpose, it is In the Arms of a Unicorn.
It has a certain dignity to it. Or at least as much dignity as one can reasonably expect from being rescued by a mythical horse. At least with a unicorn, I wouldn't have to worry about it being a fallen one. However, I know where I am, and I know what I feel, and sometimes it feels as if I will remain this way for the rest of my life. And I just might.