The sound of a beating drum echoes in my mind.
Over and over it goes.
I find myself waiting upon each break, hoping to hear the sound; to remind me that it isn’t hiding and plotting.

And at the same time I feel the relief of a beat-I wish it was an ocean wave or the wind howling at the peak of a mountain or a stream running by or the sound of my sisters laughter.

and I could romanticize it and say that it changes if only you adjust your ears.
But it doesn’t.
It beats on and on and on.
Eventually you learn how to hear both.  

You learn how to remember the joy in sunlight.
You learn how to be grateful each night.
You learn how to take a deep breath, while you wished you weren’t breathing at all.

And you have to chose this every day. Every day you wake up.
You need to chose to remember the things you love. And know that one day you’ll enjoy them again.

You must remember that you are living for everyone who let the drum beat them down.

You are living for everyone who let the drum beat so loud they forgot the sound of happiness.
They couldn’t feel it.
They couldn’t find it.
As if the drummer was beating them instead.

And so I will hold it out to you- a hand.
A friend.
A pair of headphones.  
And the promise to partake in laugher with you once again.