Sometimes I feel,
like I would die without my music.
The comfort
of my base drum's steady beat,
and the excitement of the snare drum
and symbols,
keeps me from being sad.

I remember,
when I first started to play the Oboe,
it was my new source of comfort,
something that I could always play,
and be happy,
along with my drums.
For years,
if you heard either the drums,
or the oboe,
coming from my room,
you knew not to enter.
I wanted to be alone,
and be absorbed into my music.

I got my own piano on year,
I would teach myself,
because I do not like it
when others force me to learn,
what can I say,
i'm stubborn.
I played the piano
everyday,
along with
the oboe, and
the drums.
Music was my happiness.

One day,
I became sad,
depressed almost.
I couldn't bring myself
to play my music.
My instruments just sat in my room,
untouched,
for weeks.
I couldn't bring myself
to play them,
at the time
it was easier to just lie
in my bed,
and do,
nothing.

But one morning,
i got up,
because I don't like,
the easy way out,
I was disgusted with myself
for taking that path.
Slowly, hesitantly I reached
for my oboe,
the instrument that I constantly
battled with.

I played part of a song,
that I learned years ago,
and I felt myself start to smile,
truly smile,
after weeks of fake smiling,
and pretending to be happy.

Sometimes the sadness,
can make the things you enjoyed doing,
into something you despise,
because it only held happy memories,
that will never occur again.
But they won't ever occur again,
because I was sad,
and not truly living.

But just the feel of playing my oboe,
made me understand
that things go wrong,
and sometimes you can't stop it,
but you must move on,
because if you don't
you will waste your life away,
becoming a shell
of your former self.
You'll die feeling alone,
in a dark room,
where you feel like
no one loves you,
even though that is not true.